


Life Starts Now

by Aegwynnn (Ogawdy)



Series: Life Starts Now (You Will Survive This Somehow) [1]
Category: Warcraft (2016), Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Prison, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Lots of Angst, M/M, No Smut, Rated For Violence, Side Ships, long! fic, mafia, pls read the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-03-23 19:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 74,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13794738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ogawdy/pseuds/Aegwynnn
Summary: Sending a twenty-four year-old boy, an innocent man who had never done anything wrong in his life, whose only ties to any criminal activity was to be a victim of it, sendinghiminto the most dangerous prison in the States, filled with the worst criminals that exist, only to break out of it, making him an outlaw for the rest of his life? It was crazy.And yet, Khadgar finds his way into the Violet Hold, and with a mission: to get out of it.





	1. Act One: Kairos

**Author's Note:**

> **/!\WARNINGS/!\:  
> **  
>  violence;  
> non-graphic mentions of torture, death, character being shot;  
> homophobic and racist speech;  
> blatant and unapologetic romanticizing of criminal characters;  
> non-graphic suicide attempt.
> 
>  
> 
> Life Starts Now (you will survive this somehow)  
>  _Gone Forever_ - ** _Life Starts Now_** - _The Good Life_
> 
>    
> [4th Jan '19] Gone Forever is in the works and scheduled to start posting Summer 2019, if everything goes well :)

* * *

# ACT I: kairos.

Kairos (Ancient Greek καιρός: kairós)  
a time when conditions are right for the accomplishment of a crucial action : the opportune and decisive moment

##### PART ONE [United States of Azeroth, Dalaran County Prison – the mess hall]: the violet hold.

There is an odd feeling to any place that holds a crowd of people with each a different temperament but all linked by the reason they are here – like a hospital, a school, a prison. It is a feeling of expectancy, of anticipation of the inevitable moment where the relative quietness will break. There is never a way to prevent it from breaking and no way to predict when it will happen. As soon as you enter such a place, you feel it like an undercurrent of tension weaving itself around every body. It is in the air, the hum of conversations, shouted or hushed, the movements of arms and legs. Maybe it will be in the increasing pace of a walk or the sudden silence of an individual. All that is certain is that it will break.

A prison, as previously stated, is one such place, with the added tension of the violence inherent to criminals locked up with less than half their number of guards. Gathering a large number of people in one place was one thing, preventing them from leaving it another – but locking them all in one room was simply foolish. 

In this particular prison, known as the Violet Hold, and on this particular day of June the 4th, the break started happening around noon. There were several factors involved, ones that you would call mundane if you had spent enough time between its walls – a slightly scorched meal sending one inmate into a frenzy, an insulting of mothers even though it had been sworn never to bring up the mothers, and a widespread bad mood due to three days without seeing the light of the sun because of heavy rain – and others that were exceptional to this day. 

The fight started very naturally between two inmates and quickly morphed into a brawl, as it always did. The guards joined more than tried to stop it. The rest of the prisoners watched on, enjoying a show even if it was essentially the same as last week, until they received a straying punch and decided to join themselves. Everyone not yet involved, which was still a large majority, looked on in silence, having cleared the center of the room for the sake of their fighting comrades.

This was not the break in itself. If anything this could have been an indication that it would not happen today. But some things just could not be anticipated.

The kid arrived in the middle of the afternoon, a suspicious time as most transfers happened in the morning. He looked exhausted and shaken but that much wasn’t unusual. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, given it was already hard to believe he was more than twenty-one. Clean-shaven as per regulations, even though the Violet Hold had long since given up on this precise rule with its own inmates, he sported a childish air, with his chubby cheeks and all-too-innocent eyes. 

As soon as he walked in the sewing yard, it was everyone’s unspoken mission to find out what he had done to get locked up in Azeroth’s top-security facility for most dangerous criminals. The fact that he was brought in by two black suits looking like FBI while himself seeming to have just gotten out of a long and harsh questioning, only added to the suspicion. However, that wasn’t enough to deem him ‘dangerous’ by prison standard. He didn’t hold that prisoner kind of vibe that people tend to adopt after a few years in this den. There had been youngsters that came in the Violet Hold thinking they were tough because they had robbed a bank and got caught but those dreams were violently crushed when they came face to face with the kind of scum that finished their days at the Dalaran State Prison. But what caught Lothar’s eye, from the very first step the new inmate took inside the facility’s workroom, was how completely unimpressed he looked. 

A hundred eyes followed him as he made his way across the room between the sewing machines, led by the guards to a vacant work station. The noise of the machines did not stop to welcome him as that would for sure mean a rebuke from the warden. He got settled and one inmate was ordered to teach him how to work the station. Lothar did not try to hide his gaze as no other detainees did and it was pretty obvious anyway a new inmate would bring this much attention to himself. This was not a classic prison – most prisoners here were in for a life sentence. The thought of this kid being a lifer did not please Lothar but he reasoned to himself that, if he was, there was probably a very good reason. Pity was not in an inmate’s vocabulary.

Lothar focused back on the task at hand, anxious to have finished his fifty shirts for the day so he could go back to his cell. He didn’t hold any illusions for the kid. He would be broken in before the end of the week. He looked too young, too sweet for such a place. He was sure there was already a betting pool on how long it would take to have him transferred someplace else.

The excitement only grew as the day went and the news of the newcomer travelled across the ward. It was only logical, then, that the break started during dinner. As was usual, Lothar sat in a corner alone, scowling at anyone who dared approach him. In the whole two years he had been here, people had started to get used to him and nobody tried to sit with him anymore. He could feel the underlying tension in the room, the excited banter, could see the rapid hushed conversation between three or four inmates, a group known for their general violence, led by Moragg. In a previous life, Lothar wouldn’t be surprised if he had been a demon. In this reality however, he was known to have been providing military controlled weaponry to a whole lot of mafia groups and street gangs. He had been caught a year ago and wouldn’t shut up since about how the whole wide world outside this pretty place was probably crumbling without him. Lothar doubted that. 

He kept a cautious eye on him and his group of thugs now, drug and weapon dealers that only found themselves here because of their connection to various mobs without actually being part of any organized crime groups. Lothar wasn’t stupid; the whole room was waiting for the new kid to arrive. Sure enough, the bubble of tension popped right when the door opened and his pretty face showed up. There was an eerie silence, one built on whispers and loud snickers, while he walked towards the line to the food. Everybody held their breath as Moragg made his way across the room in large stride, sporting a big grin. 

It seemed the kid had some sense in him as he quickly realized what he had just stepped in. He turned around slowly at the sound of heavy footsteps, just in time to face Moragg. A conversation ensued that Lothar could not hear but could guess, from the kid’s defensive stance, from Moragg’s smirk and large gestures, was not all that polite. The kid didn’t seem to answer anything, looking lost and more and more confused until there was a definite shift in his posture and it broke.

Lothar had to say his technique was flawless. He rotated his hips slowly, almost leisurely, bringing his arm back and closing his fingers into a fist, before striking Moragg straight into the jaw. Beautiful but foolish. The man staggered backwards, momentarily stunned, blood trickling down his chin. When he lifted up his head to look at the kid, his eyes were burning with anger. The kid ducked and avoided the first punch but couldn’t parry the jab to his gut. 

The entire mess hall erupted then. It wasn’t like that fight back at lunch. This wasn’t for show, this wasn’t a brawl and this wouldn’t end kindly. The kid was going to get obliterated before the guards even reached them. 

An uppercut to the jaw brought the kid to his knees where he got pushed to the ground with barely any resistance. Then, Moragg’s sidekicks joined him into kicking and stomping the kid while the crowd cheered. Lothar shook his head, disgusted at how easily locked up convicts could get worked up. 

The beating continued on and there seemed to be no guards around. Lothar’s brow furrowed, looking for any prison personnel. He spotted the guards where they were supposed to be and they were just conveniently looking somewhere else while the kid got beaten in the center of the room. 

A spike of anger overcame Lothar.

He got up, crossing the room in seconds, reaching the group of four focusing on the unmoving body. Grabbing one of them by the collar, he hollered “That’s enough!” He tried to fight him off, until he realized who it was. The beating stopped abruptly. Moragg was staring down at Lothar who held his gaze, still holding on the other’s collar. He could feel him trembling under his hand. The crowd quieted, wanting to hear what happened between the two of them. 

“That’s enough,” Lothar repeated.

Moragg seemed to hesitate, fury burning in his eyes, probably feeling insulted that Lothar would think he had that kind of power over him. The fact that his next course of action included spitting at Lothar’s feet while bowing his head and then storming out of the room without a word was a clear proof that Lothar did in fact overpower him. It took one sweeping glare around the room for everyone, including the guards, to focus back on their meal, chattering resuming shyly. 

Only then did Lothar look down at the prone figure of the kid, orange uniform having rolled up baring his rapidly bruising back. Lothar pushed him lightly with his feet, getting a low wail from the kid’s throat. Although he could not have refrained from groaning and moaning at times He had been stubbornly silent all through the beating, swallowing any cries of pain Moragg and his gang had tried their best to kick out of him. 

“C’mon kid. Don’t just stay there. Get up.”

The kid did not acknowledge him at all. He kneeled down at his side, lowering his voice.

“Kid. You’re off the hook for now. Don’t think I’ll always be here to save your ass. Now get the fuck up and get something to eat. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

He heard a low groan, something like “okay.” 

Satisfied, Lothar got up and walked back to his table where his meal sat gone cold. Not one to waste food, he sat back down, forcing the meal down his throat while shooting glares throughout the room. He watched as the kid gathered himself on the ground, sore muscles and bruises making themselves known in the way he limped over to the counter to accept a plate from a disinterested cook. It was impressive, how Moragg managed to get everyone in on this one. The favors he must have pulled made Lothar sick to the stomach. 

He didn’t notice the kid making his way towards him until he was already standing right in front of him, his gaze focused on him. Lothar’s snarl did not faze him, nor did he react when he gritted out “Get out of my space, kid.” For a reason unknown to him, Lothar knew he had already lost that fight. It made him uneasy. The feeling of a hundred curious pair of eyes on them did nothing to reassure him. 

The kid sat down and started eating without saying a word until Lothar snapped.

“If you’re going to sit here, at least tell me your name,” he said gruffly. 

“Khadgar,” he mumbled, devouring his meal. “And you’re Anduin Lothar, aren’t you?” He looked up, eyes bright.

Now, this was interesting.

“How’d you know?”

The kid chuckled lightly, then coughed as it revived the pain in his ribs, but he didn’t answer. Scoffing, Lothar decided to let it slide for now.

“You should get yourself checked out. Don’t want to let broken ribs fester.”

That earned him a dark glare from Khadgar to which he answered with a smirk.

“Don’t pander to me, kid. I know you’re not as fragile as you would like us to believe.”

Khadgar watched him leave the table with his mouth agape. Lothar couldn’t hide the smirk that bloomed on his lips as he exited the mess hall, a slight spring in his step.  
 


	2. I, 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thrilled by the response I received for LSN's first chapter! Thank so much to everyone who left kudos or commented, here or on tumblr, I love you all, you're the best.

##### PART TWO [USA, Dalaran County Prison – cell n°51]: anduin lothar.

It had taken three weeks for Khadgar to find himself sitting on Lothar’s bed, lip busted and eye bruising. He had large marks all over his chest, along with trickles of blood and some more yellowish bruises reminding Lothar of this kid’s very first day here. He didn’t say a word, lifting a cloth to the kid’s face and wiping off the dry blood and tears. He was seriously hurt and should require better medical treatment but no official would want to take care of him now. They wouldn’t let him die but no one cared if an inmate had to suffer for a few days because of a beating.

Khadgar wouldn’t meet his eyes, looking at everything but him. He seemed overly curious of the place Lothar had been living in for the better part of the last two years. He had managed to gather a number of personal effects that would surely be surprising to a new inmate. His bookshelf he was particularly proud of. He had to pull several strings in order to get some of the books and he had made a point in reading them every time he felt like the prison life was getting to him. It was his last hold onto the outside world. He knew he would never go out there ever again so he had needed to get something of it in.

He could not help but notice the interest with which the kid was eyeing them. Lothar glanced over at the bookshelf, skimming over the titles, mentally listing those he had enjoyed and others he had hated with a fury, yet they all held a place in his heart which was invaluable. He realized what a peculiar view it must have been, these books casually sitting here in a prison cell, especially in a prison with a reputation like that of the Violet Hold. He wondered what Khadgar could be thinking, but if the glint in his eyes meant anything, Lothar was quite sure he was more amazed by it than puzzled.

Right next to the bookshelf, hidden behind it so it could not be seen from the door, were a couple of photos. Khadgar’s eyes widened momentarily when they fell on them. Lothar hung his head low, incapable of telling if what he was feeling was embarrassment or shyness. The photos pictured himself, years younger, and obviously happier than he could ever feel now, locked for life in this cell. Next to him, clinging to his arms or their own slung loosely around his shoulders, were his life-long friends, their smiles forever etched in his memory. For these, too, he had had to bargain to be allowed to keep the pictures that had been sent along in one of the many letters his sister had sent him since he was imprisoned. He would have given anything for this right, for being able to watch upon, and never forget the faces of the three most important people in his life. 

Lothar set the cloth down in the bucket he had filled with warm water and sat back on his heels. He observed this man who was sitting on his bed, bruised and cut on every inch of his skin, eyes always moving and fidgeting knee. It didn’t make any sense to him what a kid like him did in such a place. Because this was a kid, Lothar had come to realize. Although he was at least twenty-one, he could not believe he was much older than that. It was the first time such a young inmate had been admitted in the Violet Hold, and Lothar could barely tamper down his curiosity. However he doubted what the kid needed right now was to be questioned on his crimes. Being the youngest around had not been a blessing, if the rapidly bruising cuts on Khadgar’s face were any indication of that. 

Lothar had had trouble to hide his wince when he had found Khadgar, huddled in a dark corner outside the bathroom. There, no one would have found him until the morning at least, had Lothar not overheard the guards talking about him. Anger had risen in him, so violent, so intense he had almost launched himself towards the guard to wring his neck right then and there. But instead, he had listened intently, trying to pick up where all that he was boasting about had happened. As soon as he had located Khadgar, he had taken off, not concerned in the least of what he looked like, suddenly abandoning his work and rushing out of the room, right past the guards. They had not tried to stop him, though.

He had found Khadgar, naked, dripping water and blood on the floor, shaking and–not crying exactly, but the kind of uncontrolled silent sobs that made Lothar’s heart ache. He had gotten him pants, helped him in them, trying not to show his worry at the various bruises his skin already showed: down the legs, thighs, stomach, chest, upper arms… His anger was tampered down by the sheer anxiety Lothar felt at the view, the spikes of which shot right through him at each and every wince coming from the kid as he walked him towards his room. Not to the infirmary, not to his own cell, but to Lothar’s because no one else would take care of him.

This was not like last time. Although Lothar doubted the first had actually been the last, but perhaps he hoped it had been the worst until tonight. The first time, inmates had gone at him, punched him until he couldn’t breathe and Lothar had called it off, and the nurses had cleaned and taken care of him. But this time, the humiliation was quite different, and it inscribed itself in a twisted and rotten perspective of the government and prison organization which Lothar had always had a vague sense of and had gradually become privy of. Lothar was almost sure this was the first time Khadgar had been a victim of it, though. He did not look crushed and hallowed out like Lothar had seen so many before him be. Somehow, Lothar was not sure whether that made the situation better or worse, how sincerely _well_ Khadgar seemed to be taking it.

His quietness, at least, was something Lothar appreciated in that he did not try to push him away or refuse to be taken care of. Khadgar sat and did not say a word and accepted Lothar wiping his skin with a wet cloth, wiping the blood and pus leaking from the ugly wounds on his arms and chest. Lothar did not dare ask him to pull down his pants so he could take care of his legs. Khadgar would do it later himself, privately, and alone. Enough of him had been invaded for one night.

None of them had said a word, actually, except quiet demands like “put these on,” “raise your arm,” “turn your head,” but they had not talked about what had happened, or what would happen now, perhaps because it wasn’t necessary; they both knew the answers to these questions, the real ones, but also the one they would give: _nothing_ has happened, and nothing will.

Lothar observed Khadgar as he kept gazing over each and every item his cell held, which was a lot. His eyes, however, kept glancing back at the pictures by the shelf, as if drawn by them by an unknown force. He itched to stand up and take a better look at them yet he stayed kindly put. It was a long while until he spoke, finally feeling like he had perhaps extended his stay for a bit too long.

“Lothar—“

“Please,” he immediately said, eyes fixing themselves in his, “don’t thank me for this.”

Khadgar gaped. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Oh.” The sound fell softly from Lothar’s lips. 

There was an uncomfortable silence, the kind that stretches on for miles, until they couldn’t take it anymore and they both opened their mouths to speak at the same time. They laughed awkwardly, trying to urge the other to speak, until eventually no one did.

It was only then that it hit Lothar just how raw Khadgar’s voice had sounded.

He stood up and walked towards the sink in one corner, where he kept his toiletries. There was a plastic cup here, the kind that’s not glass so it doesn’t break off in several sharp objects if flung to the floor. Lothar filled it up, forgetting what he was doing midway and being reminded of it by the water overflowing from the cup and on his hands. He gave a start, looking guiltily at Khadgar but he was not paying him any attention, instead focusing on a loose thread on the horrible government-issued green blanket on which he was sitting.

Khadgar accepted the water with a grateful, if not a little surprised smile and downed it in one go. Lothar hesitated to offer to fill it up again, but Khadgar did not hand it to him nor make any move to, instead letting his hand fall onto his lap and the cup rest against his thigh.

Not for the first time, Lothar was hit by how young he looked, and almost asked him straight out, swallowing the words as soon as he tasted them on his lips. It would be useless, anyway, to know. This was pure curiosity, and curiosity is what gets you killed. Or imprisoned for life, Lothar thought bitterly.

Instead, there was another silence, but this one was not awkward, yet it was not comfortable either. It just was, and Lothar eventually made up his mind as to how to fill it.

“Would you like to borrow some?”

Khadgar lifted his head, staring not at him but directly at the books, not at all confused as to what Lothar was talking about. He seemed surprised, though, at the question, more than a question, it was an offer. Until now, they had had no link, no relationship to speak of. Since that first day in which Lothar had saved him, and then Khadgar had sat with him and known his name, much to his dismay, they had not talked, barely seen each other, only occasionally when they crossed paths at the mess hall. Even though Khadgar had first been put on sewing duty along with Lothar, when the shifts had changed and Lothar had gone to the cleaning team and Khadgar to the kitchens, they had ended up not being put on the same schedule and as such they rarely ate at the same time. It had fitted Lothar although he held a hint Khadgar would have wanted more than the short conversation they had had until Lothar had left him at the table with an order to get himself checked out.

This was, in a way, an offering of peace, and of friendship. A partnership to be born from one lending books to the other in the bare reality that is prison life, and if anyone had told Lothar that would be his life one day, he would not have believed them.

“I would,” was the answer Khadgar gave, and something in the formulation just sounded so wrong.

Lothar sighed, went to sit next to Khadgar, both of them staring at the bookshelf.

“I’m sorry,” Lothar said, and he didn’t really know why.

“Don’t be,” Khadgar answered, because he genuinely thought Lothar had no reason to be sorry–on the contrary.

They fell silent once again, but for once, it was comfortable, and quiet and warm, yet neither of them could have said why.

Lothar’s mind was swimming with questions and memories and doubts until he couldn’t shut up anymore.

“Say,” he started, and stubbornly kept his eyes on the wall in front of them when Khadgar turned to stare at him, “how d’you know my name?”

It was a silly question, if he was being honest, but one that had been on the forefront of his mind, whether he admitted it or not, for the past three weeks. There could have been a number of reasons for the kid to know his name. Maybe he had recognized him after having seen him on the news, or something. That was possible. Yet Lothar felt frustrated at not hearing it from Khadgar himself, even if that really was the only reason why he knew his name, and his face, and why he felt like bringing it up right after getting himself beaten up.

Predictably, Khadgar scoffed, and then dissolved into a fit of coughing that looked painful and tearing. Lothar reached for him, unsure what he was going to do, but he was stopped anyway by Khadgar raising his hand. He took a deep breath which came out ragged, one hand holding his heaving chest, and the tiniest hint of pain at the corner of his mouth. Lothar let his hand fall.

“That’s a, uh, interesting question.”

Lothar’s eyebrow rose.

“Why?”

Khadgar’s eyes flickered to his. He seemed way too hesitant and doubtful at this moment, and Lothar’s suspicions grew louder and louder at the back of his mind. There was something wrong with this kid, after all, something that went a long way further than just getting beaten up even as he had just taken a step into the place, or the way he had seemed like he was seeking him out, face lighting up every time he caught his eyes in the mess hall, the way the guards had been whispering for three weeks, or even how he had been accosted in the showers, not even let time to dress, before three guards went down on him, not leaving one inch of skin unmarred. There was something wrong with this kid, and Lothar was, whether he liked it or not, involved in it, had been ever since that first day.

It felt, unsurprisingly, a bit like predestination, a bit like all his life had been building up to the moment he would stare down at this kid, this stupid, hesitant kid, with wide brown eyes, one of each had doubled in size in the last hour, just so he would look him in the eye and repeat, in a cold, hard voice.

“Why?”

 


	3. I, 3

##### PART THREE [USA, Dalaran County Prison – cell n°12]: khadgar.

Khadgar sat alone on his bed, staring at the bare walls. He tried to imagine what he could hang on them, if he even could hang anything, if he had that right. In the background of his mind, he heard the dangerous ticking of an imaginary clock. 

It was the middle of the night, time where there wasn’t any light except for the emergency exit neon, which cast a gloomy green light on every furniture his cell held. The bed, the sink, the wardrobe. If the shelves that were nailed firmly to the wall on which he put his spare uniform on could be called a wardrobe. Everywhere he looked though, he could visualize exactly what it looked like in Lothar’s cell, and he felt his heart sink and sink to unknown depths. Lothar’s cell had felt lived in, a safe place, a personal one, the likes of which should never be found in a prison. _Life-long imprisonment_ , the words echoed over and over in his head. He had felt a cold shudder upon hearing them the first time, and then that shudder had turned into a constant damp state until he could not sleep. Until he had had to just do something, because he had realized he could not let it go.

Khadgar prodded wistfully at the cuts on his right eyebrow, the slight tingling pain barely enough to bring him out of his deep thinking. His face had not received the worst of it, the deep, sharp pain in his belly and upper thighs that flared every time he so much as moved a muscle attested of that. But it could have been worse, he kept thinking, the sensation of calloused yet soft hands brushing against his skin, the wet and warm cloth being swept along his chest in careful movements, all of it bringing him back to the last evening.

He had not answered his question. Khadgar felt the slightest pang of regret and embarrassment at that, because he had left the cell suddenly, obviously upset. As soon as Lothar had asked him why he knew his name, why he thought it a good idea to even bring it up that day, Khadgar had felt his heart drop to his stomach, and then lower than that, lower than his feet, sinking into the concrete floor, when footsteps and chatter had come rushing in from the mess hall doors that had suddenly opened and inmates were ordered to go back to their own cells.

“I can’t tell you,” had said Khadgar. “Not here. Not now.”

Lothar had tried to stop him, but Khadgar was out of the cell and off to rejoin his own before he could do anything. Glancing back, Khadgar had seen Lothar staring at him from his cell door, eyes dark. It was true, Khadgar had told himself, he could not tell him while there were a hundred ears that would hear, a hundred ears that had no business hearing it. The fact Khadgar felt a deep shame at having been found by Lothar, of all people, naked, huddled in a corner of the showers and trembling, cold and pained from having received what now ranked in the top five beatings of his life, had nothing to do with how he had quite literally fled this room. This room which felt too much like a home for Khadgar to even feel comfortable in it. There were pictures on the wall, for Light’s sake. 

Khadgar dropped his head on his knees, groaning deep and low. When the light came up in the morning, 6AM and the unmistakable sound of the cell doors being unlocked and then wrenched open almost at the same moment by those inmates which could not stand to stay a second more in their restrained space, Khadgar had sort of dozed off, not quite asleep but not awake either. He startled, hand blindly reaching for something, anything in a useless defense move until it all came back to him: where he was, why he was here, and what for.

He got up, and got dressed, and headed down the hall.

One week later, a month after he had arrived, Khadgar changed shift, and found himself on the sewing team, the one that works hours in the basement with the flickering lights and the sound of ten or twenty sewing machines filling up the space. It’s better than the kitchen, had tried to reassure him one prisoner, that had become somewhat close to him as they brushed and swiped and rinsed the plates clean. Khadgar was not sure.

The obvious advantage that brought him his new shift became clear, however, on the very first night, as Khadgar dragged himself, half deaf and half blind, to the mess hall, along with his new sewing buddies, as he got to call them during one of his long and numerous inside conversation with himself. He got in line, took whatever food was offered to him, waved vaguely at his–not a friend, not a comrade either, mate perhaps, from the kitchen. He turned to head to a table, any table with anyone sitting at it because he could not be bothered anymore, and ran straight into a large chest.

He stumbled a bit, missing the back of the chair he had intended to grab to retain his equilibrium, but did not fall, since a hand was tightly squeezing his upper arm and maintaining him upright. He feared for his tray for a second but this, too, was being held upright by another hand. Khadgar blinked, suddenly wide awake, and met Lothar’s eyes.

They looked angry. Khadgar blinked again, and Lothar was gone.

“Hey!” he called out, spotting the man’s retreating back in the crowd, and he started following him. He found him sitting alone at a table at the far end of the mess, with a radius of six or seven seats around him that people seemed to avoid at any cost. Khadgar did not care, and sat right in front of him, his own eyes blazing now that Lothar had dared run from him. He received a few curious looks, others that were more fearful, and whether that was at him or for him, Khadgar could not care less.

Lothar did not even deign to glance at him, eating his mashed potatoes, giving off a calm and deadly air, despite his very not intimidating situation. Khadgar, suddenly, realized that with the noise of the mess hall and the ten feet empty radius around them, no one could hear anything they would say.

He noted that fact, and turned to his plate, starting to munch at his own food while keeping his eyes stubbornly locked on Lothar’s face. Thirty seconds was all it took for Lothar to sigh loudly, depositing his fork with far more force than necessary, and shooting a murderous glare at Khadgar.

“What?” he hissed.

“Can’t I eat here? There’s plenty of room.”

If looks could kill, well, Khadgar would have been dead since long by now, but if he would have somehow survived twenty-four years of being his cheeky insolent self only to find himself sitting across from Lothar on this very day, then he would probably have died on the spot. As it was, despite trying his best to retain his seemingly calm composure, he had to admit the glare in Lothar’s eyes was enough to make him question every single decision he had taken in his life so that he would find himself here, and trying to figure out where, exactly, it had all gone so terribly awry so that there was no other choice but for him to be sitting here, under this gaze.

Khadgar knew he had fucked up when Lothar did not say anything and simply pushed his chair away, taking his plate and starting to walk away.

“Wait, Lothar!”

He did not falter. Khadgar looked around, and sure, there a few curious gaze but nothing he could not handle. He rolled his eyes, and dealt his last hand.

“Please,” he said between gritted teeth.

That stopped Lothar right in his tracks. As he slowly turned around to face him, any curious person that was looking on feigned to be looking somewhere else what with the sheer aura of disdain he gave off. Khadgar felt it more than anyone else, though, when the blazing eyes set on him, and he could spot the tiniest bit of surprise in them. He wanted to be swallowed up by the ground.

“Sit,” he enjoined him.

Lothar did so, tray clattering down, the sound not loud enough to carry over the noise of the mess. Khadgar cleared his throat to get rid of the uncomfortable lump that had lodged itself there.

“I dress in an elephant costume to go to sleep at night,” he told Lothar, as seriously as possible.

Lothar’s eyebrows shot up, eyes crinkling with a hint of amusement which made Khadgar grin widely. Around them, no one batted an eyelash.

“No one can hear us here,” Khadgar explained, and Lothar’s gaze held something deep and unfathomable that made Khadgar’s heart miss a beat.

“Alright,” said Lothar then, and Khadgar had half a mind to notice that was the first amiable word he had said to him today. “How d’you know my name?”

In saying so, he settled on his crossed arms on the table, leaning just slightly towards him, and Khadgar cleared his throat loudly again, for a whole other reason.

“Yes,” he said, gathering his wits, “right. Er.”

Lothar’s eyebrow rose, and Khadgar wanted to die.

He decided, as Lothar had jumped directly to the chase, to do exactly the same.

“I’m here to rescue you.”

Lothar’s jaw dropped. His eyes jumped around nervously, staring down anyone who so much as glanced in their direction. As Khadgar had predicted, no one had heard what he had just said. Well, no one but Lothar.

“What?” he hissed again, but this time his voice was laced with panic in a way Khadgar could never have expected.

“Anduin Lothar,” he started, “you have been–unjustly–imprisoned for the murder of FBI agent D… G…, on the eve of February 3rd, 20xx. The case was shady at best but as the FBI already suspected you of being a member of the Irish mafia group Stormwind, a fact which is, at least, true, even if they couldn’t prove it, they jumped on the opportunity to get a hold of you, once and for all. You were arrested, appointed a state lawyer who pleaded guilty for you, and you were imprisoned for life,” Khadgar shuddered unperceptively, “instead of being put on death row.”

He held a beat. “Isn’t that so?”

Lothar’s eyes had dropped, staring unseeing at the table, hands squeezed tight around his arms. Khadgar could not see his face, nor could he guess what he was thinking at this moment. He waited patiently until Lothar spoke.

“What does any of this have to do with you?”

Khadgar smiled slightly. “I,” he said, “am here to set things right, and get you the hell out of here.”

Lothar did look up at that, but the look on his face had Khadgar’s smile falter like ice on red-hot iron. He did not look happy, although Khadgar had not expected him to, but he did not look relieved, or surprised, or any positive emotion he could have been feeling right now. No, he looked angry, angrier than he had looked earlier but this anger was more like a fury, a cold, unforgiving fury which etched itself deeply into the lines of his face until he was totally disfigured.

“You have no right,” he whispered, but nevertheless it echoed like a shout in Khadgar’s ears. “Go home, kid.”

Lothar got up, leaving his tray right where it was, and exited the mess. Khadgar was left staring at the space where he had sat just two seconds ago, dumbfounded, wondering: _How the fuck does he expect me to go home?_

 


	4. I, 4

##### PART FOUR [USA, New York City – Stormwind HQ]: medivh.

On the pictures on Lothar’s wall, there were three people along with Lothar’s own younger self. Two of them were smiling widely, looking happier than what was probably allowed. One was Lothar’s own sister, Taria, married to Llane Wrynn, Lothar’s childhood best friend. On the picture, they were forever smiling at each other, love clear and bright in their eyes. On the second picture, these two people could also be seen, Taria squeezing Lothar’s arm, caught in the middle of a laugh, eyes crinkled. Llane held the camera towards them, looking focused through his soft smile. Lothar looked happy too, a memory of that day made immortal by a press of finger on the camera button. And then, the farthest away from the lens was Medivh, half hidden behind Lothar’s shoulder, although he had his arm draped across Lothar’s back, his face close to his friend’s. His smile was more of a hint, more tampered and controlled, yet he was smiling, of that there was no doubt.

Medivh, right now, was not smiling. In fact, he was scowling, and looked a second away from flipping the table he stood in front of and yelling out insults. This possibility was what made the two person in front of him stand at attention like they were soldiers and he was their lieutenant. In a way, that was more than half true.

What eluded most that looked upon Lothar’s pictures he had hung on his wall, was that these three people, his sister and two best friends, all happy and young they looked, had more to hide than what met the eye. Llane and Taria Wrynn were the leaders of a group they had called Stormwind, and which had ties to the New Yorker branch of the Irish mafia. Medivh was their adviser, but for now, he had accepted to also take care of assigning missions and organizing their men.

He was, unsurprisingly for anyone who knew him, very bad at it. And he was about to snap. 

He heaved a deep sigh which made the two men in front of him, wearing leather jackets and sporting their hair shaved on one side and spiked on the other, shudder in fear.

“Alright,” he told them. “Let me get this straight. _Don’t_ interrupt me if I’m wrong.” They nodded, and he kept on: “You,” he pointed at one of them who nodded again, “were charged with robbing the pharmacy, and you,” he pointed at the other, who was, by the time, too stressed to even move his head up and down in a semblance of a nod, “were charged with waiting for him with the van. Yet,” and they both jumped at that, “here you are, without the goods, and,” Medivh pinched his nose, “without the van.”

They both nodded vigorously then, and as they seemed to never stop, Medivh held up a hand, expression long-suffering and pained.

“You got the van stolen.” Nod. “With the goods.” Nod. “Inside the van.” Nod.

Medivh felt like shooting both of them on the spot. He didn’t, because these two weren’t the worst of the lot, but he felt a rush of admiration and pity for Lothar, who used to handle this job with apparent ease and comfort, speaking to the men with a calm, composed voice and somehow, always getting what he wanted out of them. They never seemed to do anything right, though, now that Medivh was in charge. Medivh seriously wondered how he could be responsible with the sheer amount of uselessness the men had shown in the past two years, yet he had no other explanation as to how everything seemed to work out so well before he got here, and how everything had progressively tumbled into the shit show their operation now was.

“Ok,” he sighed. “Ok, go away, now.”

The men did not have to get told twice, and they exited like the devil itself was at their heels. Medivh heard the door behind him open and he did not move from his stance, hand covering his face and the other holding his weight against the table. A hand brushed his shoulder, coming to rub gently at the strained muscle. Medivh heaved again and let himself melt into the touch.

“Long day?” a rough voice asked.

“When is it not,” Medivh answered.

The hand dropped to his hip, a warm chest lined up against his back, and a bearded chin settled on his shoulder. He felt the chuckle more than he heard it, and it brought a reluctant smile to his lips.

“You always complain anyway, my sweet Medivh,” the voice said, and he felt all of today’s stress run out of him under the weight of the body and the sound of that voice.

“I know you like my complaining, is all, Llane,” he smiled.

The other hummed, the sound reverberating in his shoulder. “That’s true.”

They stayed as they were, Llane’s hands smug against his hips and chest to back, for long minutes.

“But I don’t like seeing you so drained out at the end of each day.”

Medivh groaned, “I don’t mind that much,” he tried weakly.

“Of course you don’t,” Llane mocked him, “not like I found you inches away from shooting something. Or someone.”

Medivh extracted himself from Llane’s hold, and walked away from him, turning slightly so as to see his face. He settled, back against the table and arms crossed.

“I don’t mind,” he repeated, harder this time.

Llane’s mouth flinched, his face expressing his disapproval clearly.

“Are we having this conversation?” he asked, the _again_ more than obvious in the tone of his voice.

“As many times as it takes to convince you that I’m not about to quit.” Medivh’s voice was tight with irritation.

It was Llane’s turn to sigh. “You know we could always find someone else—“

Medivh growled, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “Oh, for Light’s sake, Llane! When are you going to let this slide?”

“When are _you_?”

Their voices were getting progressively louder and they both knew that to be dangerous, yet none of them was willing to let the issue go. They had never been able to, no matter how many times they had had that conversation in the past two years.

“Medivh, I hear what you say, I understand, ok? I miss him too! And you know that! But how does killing yourself by taking care of something you obviously can’t take care of, if our numbers are any indication, going to change anything? Going to help anything?”

“I don’t know!” shouted Medivh. “I don’t know,” he repeated in a milder voice. “It just—let me do this, please. Let me just… Do this.”

Llane’s eyes drooped in something that was way too close to pity for Medivh’s sake. Anger flared and he knew if he stayed an instant longer in this room, he would do something he’d regret.

“Please, Llane,” he said finally, pushing past him and out of the room.

He walked right through the numerous rooms that made up their headquarters, pushed the backdoor of the pub that was their front, and walked straight outside, not bothering to acknowledge the worried look Taria sent him from behind the counter.

The air outside was hot and clammy, all that Medivh hated, in this late summer evening. He did not turn around however and started walking fast down the street, going nowhere. He needed to clear his head, well aware that walking down New York’s busy streets would do nothing to help him do that, but too stubborn now to walk back into the bar he had just left in a flurry.

The fact that he and Llane could never get to the bottom of such conversations frustrated him. Two years down the line and it was still the same: they talked, they fought, Medivh left and when he would return, Llane would act like nothing had happened. He and Taria avoided the subject entirely, and Medivh would like for Llane to do exactly the same, but he was stubborn in a way that had always rubbed Medivh wrong. He would never let this go, and Medivh wouldn’t either. They were at a dead end and neither wanted to turn around and find another way. And so every day was the same.

Medivh pushed through the crowd, walking faster than he probably should have under this heat. He was sweating profusely through his black t-shirt, and he felt sick and out of breath yet he could not bring himself to stop. Anger brought each new step and did not want to settle. He kept replaying his talk with Llane in his head, the ghost feeling of Llane’s hands on his hips not disappearing even as Medivh bumped into strangers over and over again. He received a few dark looks and some insults thrown his way but he did not bother to stop for them.

He was not going anywhere, yet he found himself in a familiar street all too soon and he hated himself for it. He considered turning back for all of a half second before he walked right up the street to the number that was etched in his mind in fire letters. He searched his pockets for the key and unlocked the door. He climbed the three stairs to the door he could still see sometimes in his dreams, those dreams that had him waking up in the middle of the night, reaching blindly and jostling Llane and Taria awake, those dreams which found the three of them huddled in the bed, Medivh held tight in between the two of them as the panic receded.

Medivh had tried, at first, during the first few months, to talk to a therapist about the dreams. He had been more than willing to listen and help but Medivh grew frustrated with therapy much quicker than even he had expected. He had stopped going, and the dreams had become fewer and fewer until they only woke him up every few months. 

Medivh pushed the door to the apartment, and closed it without bothering to lock it. He took off his shoes, leaving them messily near the door. There was no light in the flat, apart from that one store neon which never shut off across the street. It cast the room in green light, one that had become familiar to Medivh even though it terrified him. 

He made a bee-line to the bed, only a mattress atop the wooden structure which had not seen sheets in months. He dropped face down on the mattress, resisting the urge to cough when he disturbed the layer of dust that had slowly stacked up. He turned his head so he could breathe and stared out the window. The panes were dirty and he could just barely make out the letters of that damned neon sign outside.

His eyes did not falter from the window, did not drift towards the walls on either sides. The apartment had been left vacant, losing throughout the years its sheets and curtains, the abandoned towels in the bathroom and any and all consumable. But all the furniture still stood there, unmoved, and most importantly, the walls were still completely covered with pictures upon pictures, some of them overlapping across others. On some panes, there were two or three layers of pictures atop the other, the first ones could barely be seen underneath, all yellowed they were. None of them had ever dared touch them, stack them up in boxes somewhere. Where would they have put the boxes anyway? And as the pictures stayed, they had never gotten around to selling the apartment.

Medivh, Llane, Taria, they each had a key but only Medivh used it anymore, even if he sometimes found himself staring at it wondering what it was for. The shame that overwhelmed him each time was almost as grand as the one he had bared for months after the joke that had been the trial. _You did the right thing_ , the words resonated in his mind like he had just heard them even though they had been spoken so, so long ago.

Tears had begun to fall, staining the mattress and wetting his cheeks. Medivh did not mind. He thought it a healthier way of getting rid of all residual anger and resentment he still felt than breaking something, whether it be a chair, or his hand or someone’s neck. He let the tears fall, Lothar’s face and voice on the forefront of his mind as he fell asleep on Lothar’s bed, in Lothar’s apartment.

 


	5. I, 5

##### PART FIVE [USA, Dalaran County Prison – the mess hall]: the call.

Today was a bad day, a very bad day, Lothar thought to himself as he entered the mess hall this morning. First of all, he had changed shifts, which was both a blessing and a curse, because it meant he did not have to stand Khadgar’s incentive glares from across the mess any longer, except he had been put on yard duty. Summer had come to an end quickly, months drifting by almost without him noticing, and the air outside had turned from clammy to crisp all too soon. The yard had progressively filled with dead leaves and wet dirt. The inmates still wore their summer uniform though, because regulations existed that stated they could only wear warmer jackets starting November. Lothar was pissed.

The second reason today was one of the shittiest days ever, was that it was Lothar’s birthday. This of course was a fact known to virtually no one except him, so he did not have to fear someone wishing him a good one, at that, but the simple fact that he knew it was his birthday was enough to put him in a murderous mood. He knew himself well enough to know he would have little to no patience for bullshit today.

Sure enough, that was put to the test almost right away. It seemed today, out of all days, was the day Khadgar– _that little shit_ Lothar thought, seeing him pushing through the crowd—had decided he had enough of the silent treatment. Lothar let him sit in front of him without a word nor a glance, hoping, against all odds, that that would be enough to make him go away. It wasn’t.

“Hey,” Khadgar said, and that simple syllable made Lothar’s anger flare up.

Lothar glared at him, trying to convey with a simple look all that he wanted to say but could not through the sheer fury which pulsated in him. Lothar was aware of his anger management issues. He had had them for most of his life, if he was honest with himself, and the prison environment had not been one of the kindest on him. At least when he had been out of prison, he could find something to do to vent all that anger but here, he had nothing else but to beat up someone, which he avoided doing. It cost him, sometimes, not hitting people, or things, but he had found solace in reading–for the most part. And lately, that Khadgar prick had been getting on his nerves, hard.

And as was said before, he did not have the patience for this today.

“No,” he told him, not bothering to explain further what he meant.

Khadgar looked mildly taken aback, but recovered quickly.

“We need to talk, though.”

Lothar chuckled darkly, gathering his plate to get the hell out of here quickly.

“Lothar, c’mon, listen to me for, what, two minutes. That’s all I ask.”

“Get lost,” he found it in himself to say.

“Lothar,” and he could tell by the sound of the kid’s voice he was losing his nerves as quickly.

“No,” he repeated.

They stared at each other for long uneasy minutes, Lothar enticing him to stay down and stay quiet, and Khadgar trying to convey to him the will to sit and listen. In a way, they both lost.

“What would it take?” Khadgar asked suddenly.

Lothar realized he had changed tactics, and couldn’t help but be curious what the kid had in store.

“Beg pardon?”

“What would it take for you to listen to me?”

Lothar stilled and thought. He did not mean to. If anything, he had wanted to simply turn the boy down and be on his way out of here to go spend his birthday elsewhere. But what he had told him actually made him think. Lothar felt his lips stretch in a devious smile.

Khadgar’s eyes widened at the same time. He could physically be seen back pedaling on his offer, the tiny “No” escaping his mouth and going entirely ignored.

“One very simple thing.”

Now, sitting outside the warden’s office, Lothar was doing his damnedest not to burst out laughing as he watched as Khadgar sent him daggers through the glass panel. Prisoners coming to request a switch was not unheard of, on the contrary, it was actually done pretty often. Lothar had never done it, simply because he had never let anyone get so close to him they could switch with him. But upon hearing Khadgar was working in the sewing ward for the time being, Lothar had jumped on the opportunity to get away from the yard work. And Khadgar, as he had so graciously offered, was ready to do anything for two minutes of Lothar listening to him.

Not that Lothar intended to give him those two minutes. It was cheating and Lothar did not feel bad about it at all. He thought Khadgar deserved it for the one and simple reason he had dared ask this of him on this very bad day that was today. He gave him a ruthful smile through the glass and he almost expected Khadgar to flip him the finger but he seemed to remember he was talking to the warden. When he eventually got out, holding in his hand the paper which delivered Lothar from yard duty, Lothar reached to take it from him but Khadgar was quicker than him. He held the papers behind his back, eluding him every time Lothar tried to snatch it up. Lothar growled low in his throat and Khadgar simply laughed.

“How intimidating,” he said. “But I’m keeping this.”

Lothar could have strangled him. “What do you want.”

Khadgar’s eyes grew hard. “You know what I want.”

Lothar resisted a sigh. “So what, you’ll just keep it all of today so we can’t switch until you’re done talking to me?”

“That’s exactly it.”

Lothar hated to admit this plan would work. And it did. Lothar kept muttering under his breath all afternoon as he hefted piles upon piles of dead leaves from the yard, walking through the cold grey air with six or seven fellow mates in the same situation as him. Being outside, Lothar almost felt bad about leaving Khadgar to deal with this once he would have his paper, but then he remembered the blackmail the kid was subjecting him to and all kind feelings towards him disappeared in a rush of anger. 

Lothar planted the rake forcefully into a pile of leaves. It hit the concrete under and promptly broke. Lothar stood unmoving for long minutes, staring at the broken rake he held like he could not make sense of what had just happened. Eventually someone came towards him and handed him another rake, glancing at him with a worried expression. 

It did nothing to improve Lothar’s mood.

By the time dinner came around, he was truly pissed off and the sheer idea of spending his meal with Khadgar was giving him a headache. His cheeky attitude had been grating on Lothar’s nerves for a while now, even if they had not talked since that day at the mess before today. It was enough to see him watching him every day from across the hall. There were times Lothar had almost left his plate where it was, got up and walked up to Khadgar just so he would just stop staring at him. Almost as if he could have had heard his thoughts, Khadgar would just have smiled in those little secretive smiles of his which made Lothar’s stomach constrict uncomfortably. There really was something about this kid that Lothar could not understand and as the days passed, he was not even sure he wanted to anymore. Lothar took his plate and went to sit, waiting for the moment Khadgar would appear and sneak up on him.

But the moment never came. Lothar finished his meal in peace and went to deposit his tray on the pile. He was about to leave when he spotted Khadgar coming in. He remembered suddenly he had changed shifts and as such, he now ate before Khadgar. It did not escape him how he had spent the last half hour thinking about the man, even if it was in such uncomplimentary terms, in what was unnecessary worry. Khadgar was engaged in what looked like a heated conversation with an inmate Lothar had never seen before and passed in front of him without even noticing him. Lothar did his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach and made to leave the room.

He was stopped by someone calling out his name.

“Anduin Lothar! You have a call.”

He stopped in his tracks, the date of today coming back to him like whiplash. He turned and approached the phone booths, a scowl firmly in place. Even as he saw Khadgar staring curiously at him out of the corner of his eye, he did not spare him a glance.

He accepted the phone from an unimpressed guard and half-barked:

“Yes?”

“ _I see you’re always in such a peachy mood on your birthday, brother_.”

Lothar sighed purposefully right into the receiver, intending for Llane to hear him loud and clear. A musical laugh joined Llane’s chuckle and Lothar figured he and Taria must have put their phone on speaker. Despite himself, Lothar felt the corner of his lips stretch softly.

“Glad to hear you still know me so well.”

It was just slightly bitter, but mostly, it held all the affection he had for his sister and brother-in-law.

“ _How are you, Anduin?_ ” asked Taria.

She was the only one who could ask him this and expect an answer. Lothar hesitated before answering, wondering how much honesty he should allow to transpire.

“Not bad,” he settled on, “but I’m out of books.”

There was a smile in Taria’s voice when she spoke: “ _I sent you a package. It should arrive shortly._ ”

“Thanks,” he said, hoping she could hear how much he meant it.

“ _It’s good to hear your voice, brother_ ,” Llane stepped in, “ _I wish you would let us call more often_.”

Lothar felt his mood progressively getting brighter. “You know you can call whenever, it’s not like I can stop you.”

He heard a mock gasp on the other side of the line. “ _You’re saying you wouldn’t hang up on us?_ ”

Lothar actually let out a chuckle at that. 

“Maybe I won’t.” Then, because he genuinely wondered: “What’s Medivh up to?”

There was a long silence. Lothar waited, getting more and more nervous as the silence stretched on. Eventually, Taria spoke in a tight voice.

“ _He’s not doing well, Anduin. We’ve tried, but…_ ”

She faltered, and Lothar let her. Medivh never called, and the few first times he had been forced to participate in the Wrynn’s call had been awkward and stilted. From the Hold, Lothar could not do anything about it, and he had come to realize that Llane and Taria much preferred not to talk about it. But still, Lothar would have expected Medivh to show up today.

“I see,” he said, voice laced with obvious regret, before suddenly changing subjects: “How’s the business doing?”

“ _Pretty well, all things considered. We’ve had a few issues to deal with, and we’re still looking for a new manager._ ”

Reading between the lines, Lothar could not help but feel his heart tighten a bit at the idea of them looking to replace him. But he was in here for life: they needed someone to do his job.

“Seriously? Still no luck?”

There was another silence, one that was significantly shorter than the other, and Lothar could visualize the Wrynns exchanging one of their secret looks which used to drive him crazy when they were younger because he could never tell what they were communicating. 

“ _Not for lack of trying_ ,” Llane said.

Lothar hummed, itching to ask him a hundred more questions about the business, yet none came. He knew he would not bear hearing how they were handling things while he would never participate anymore. He was not an active, nor valuable part of Stormwind anymore.

“Well,” he started.

“Lothar!” The cry clattered behind him, and he almost dropped the receiver.

“Khadgar?” he muttered. 

He blacked out before another word could leave his mouth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger :0


	6. I, 6

##### PART SIX [USA, Dalaran County Prison – infirmary]: of mice and men.

“Lothar. Lothar, can you hear me?”

He grunted painfully, light suddenly invading his vision. There was a dark blur which quietly solidified into a human silhouette. The face came into detail and Lothar recognized Khadgar. He grunted again.

“What the fuck,” he muttered, looking around and recognizing his surroundings as the infirmary. He repeated his question again in a confused half-whisper.

“You don’t remember?” suddenly asked Khadgar, voice laced with panicked worry.

“Remember what?”

“Oh fuck. He doesn’t remember.”

That last bit was directed at someone outside of Lothar’s line of sight. The answer was jumbled in Lothar’s ears and he did not understand one word of it. Still, it seemed to calm Khadgar down, which was a blessing.

“What don’t I remember?” Lothar asked sarcastically.

“You got hit,” said Khadgar.

The words, although he heard them perfectly, did not want to make sense in his mind. “…hit?” He was suddenly overcome with bright flashbacks, the sound of sirens and the sharp scent of blood invading his nostrils. His head swam and he felt the slick blood all over his fingers as he pressed down on someone’s heaving chest. Someone… no. No.

“No, no, hey, Lothar, come on, look at me.”

Lothar blinked and stared at Khadgar’s wide eyes. He was face to face to him, so close their noses almost touched. Khadgar blinked too and let go of him with a start. Lothar’s head hit the pillow painfully.

“Ow,” he made a point of saying.

“Oh, don’t be a wuss.”

Khadgar was looking away now, nose turned up. His voice echoed in Lothar’s mind, screaming his name.

“Wait. Khadgar.”

He turned to look at him. Lothar squinted at him, hanging on to this memory of the scream.

“What happened?”

Khadgar sighed softly, sitting on a stool near the bed. It made everything swim for a moment in Lothar’s vision until he focused again.

“You were at the phone booth. Remember that?”

Lothar nodded carefully.

“Great. You were, well, talking and not, like, looking into the room. And I turned my gaze towards you, and I saw this man – an inmate – holding a chair, he looked to be moving it away or something and I did not think much about it at first.”

Khadgar swallowed, twisting his hands.

“But then, I saw a large movement out of the corner of my eye, and I turned and he was holding the chair above his head behind you. So I screamed to warn you but, I don’t know, you must not have heard me cause you didn’t see him and he hit you with the chair, right at the back of your head.”

Lothar winced, imagining what that must have felt like, seconds before the pain he had felt at the chair hitting his head came back to him in full force.

“I remember,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Are you alright?” Khadgar worried.

“Yeah,” he said sharply. “It just hurts, is all.”

“That’s not ‘all,’ dammit, do you want something? They say they can’t give you morphine but I don’t believe them.”

“No, they can’t. Can’t handle it,” Lothar offered as way of explanation.

Khadgar settled back on his stool, looking suspicious. “What’s that mean?”

Lothar sighed, and did not answer. He dozed off for a while and when he woke up he was alone. The curtains around his bed were drawn and there were no light on. He tried sitting up but found he could not, not without feeling like his head was about to roll off his shoulders.

He spent three days in the infirmary before being allowed outside. He did not have to wear bandages on his head anymore and he found he could feel the stitches the nurse had had to give him to close the wound. Two soldiers had been in to question in, ask him if he remembered what had happened before and after being hit. They showed him a picture of the man who had attacked him and asked him if he knew what he might have had against him. Lothar resisted in answering that being part of a mafia band brought you few friends and many enemies. He honestly had never seen this man before, and the soldiers left.

Upon getting back to his cell, the first thing Lothar noticed was the activity switch form sitting on his bed, waiting to be signed by him. Khadgar’s signature was etched at the bottom, an intricate and soft sequence of lines and loops. Then, he noticed a white paper sticking out from the books on his shelf, in place of one of his books.

“ _Helped myself –K._ ”

Lothar chuckled, noticing off-handedly he had taken Steinbeck’s _Of Mice and Men_ most worn out copy instead of the clean and new version his sister had sent him on his first incarcerated birthday. _To apologize for setting your first copy on fire_ , she had written on the first page. 

Lothar remembered how angry he had felt against his sister, both of them fourteen years old, and having spent three days huddled in his room refusing to talk to anyone. Lothar had bought a new copy in the week following the unfortunate burning of his last, and the incident had been forgotten throughout the years, or so he thought. The gift had been a sharp and painful reminder of how lonely he was and he had refused to open the book for months. He eventually did, for the simple fact the old copy was almost unintelligible, the ink having washed out from years and years of being read every few months.

Khadgar’s choice was peculiar but filled Lothar with warmth.

Lothar spent the day in the sewing room, slowly going crazy from the noise and numbing monotony of the task. It was slowly creeping up on him that there might not be any activity he could handle doing anymore in the prison, and he wondered vaguely how he was going to survive for the next forty or fifty years of life he had, looking on the optimistic side of things, but he had known one man who had celebrated his ninety-third birthday in this very ward before dying in his sleep on the same day. Lothar sincerely hoped he would not come to this. He much expected to die before eighty. More than expected, he hoped for it.

Lothar stumbled into the mess hall with only food on his mind, and as such, he did not notice Khadgar, on his way out, staring at him. He ate alone, the seven chairs around him conveniently empty, or at least he told himself it was convenient, to resist the feeling of loneliness that crept up on him. Towards the end of dinner, he heard his name being bellowed by a guard near the phone booths and he all but ran to accept the phone with a small smile of thanks.

“Hello?” he breathed out.

“ _Hey_ ,” he heard Taria’s voice say. “ _How are you feeling? I’ve called every day since you hung up on us but they told me you weren’t available until today._ ”

“I was at the infirmary, Taria.”

There was a chocked up cry on the other side and Lothar pulled the phone away from his ear. “ _What! What do you mean, the infirmary? For three days?_ ”

Her voice had gradually risen to a high pitch and Lothar winced.

“Hey, relax, I’m ok now.”

He realized that was the wrong thing to say when his earbud was assaulted. “ _Now! Well! If he’s alright_ now _!_ ”

“I really am, though,” he tried, “I got a few stitches and they wanted to keep me close for a while but they released me today.”

“ _Stitches?_ ” came the choked answer.

There were some noises and bumps and then Llane spoke: “ _I think you’ve killed my wife._ ”

Lothar actually let out a chuckle at that. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he joked.

“ _I’d appreciate it if you refrained from doing it in the future,_ ” his friend played right in. “ _In all seriousness, though, Anduin, you’ve had us worried to death, here. You simply disappeared after we heard, um, someone call out your name! What happened?_ ”

“Yeah, I asked myself the same when waking up in a bed with my head feeling like it had been cracked open. Some maniac with a chair thought it’d be a good idea to check its solidity by having it meet with the back of my head.”

“ _That’s. Um. Does that happen often?_ ”

Lothar let out a laugh. “Thank the Light, no!”

Llane joined in his laughter. “ _But you’re alright now? And the maniac is far, far away from you?_ ”

“Yes,” Lothar told him warmly. “I’m alright. Taria can stop dying, now.”

“ _Sure thing. Listen, we’ve got to hang up. We’ll call soon, though._ ”

“Ok. Yeah. No problem.”

Lothar hung up, staying at the booth for a few more seconds, hand on the receiver. He eventually shook his head, chuckling to himself, before heading out the hall. Half way to his cell, he decided better of it and headed towards the yard.

Between dinner and lights out, the inmates had a couple of free hours they could spend in the recreation room or the yard, during the summer period from April to November. Lothar stepped out into the yard, feeling the cold air hit his bare arms. There were not many prisoners out given the temperature and Lothar headed for one of the wooden tables. He sat on the table, feet on the bench, staring off through the yard’s fences at the field surrounding the prison. He knew the space was restricted, the watch towers indicating where the actual guarded fence ran through the field. Wind blew through the wheat and weeds, bending them to almost a horizontal angle. He felt more than he heard someone approaching from behind, and he turned round to face Khadgar.

His face was somewhat closed off and he refused to meet his gaze. Lothar watched with concern as the kid sat beside him, letting his legs hang from the table and brush the ground. They sat in silence, Khadgar staring off in the distance exactly like Lothar had been minutes ago. Lothar was watching him and finally came to notice the tiny book he had clutched in his hands.

“Did you like it?” Lothar asked quietly.

Khadgar jumped out of surprise, glancing at him and averting his eyes immediately. He simply hummed in agreement, which was not exactly an answer.

“Hu—hum…?” Lothar inquired, a small smile playing on his lips.

Khadgar did not react. Eventually, Lothar settled into the silence, watching without seeing as an inmate started kicking into the carefully arranged piles of leaves the workers had worked into assembling all afternoon.

Suddenly, Khadgar shifted, depositing the book between his and Lothar’s thigh, and putting his hands in his pockets. He still did not meet Lothar’s eyes. He cleared his throat, hesitated, and cleared it again. He hummed a small tune. It was becoming comical to watch. He settled, finally, hooking his feet against the bench.

“Medivh sends me.”

Lothar started. The name sounded foreign on Khadgar’s tongue, in this tone of voice, spoken here like it was normal. He could feel his eyes widen momentarily, could feel his jaw clench yet he felt like he had exited his body. He stared at himself from the outside, gradually turning into stone. Khadgar looked away, anywhere but at him, wringing his fingers into each of his pockets, awaiting nervously an answer.

Lothar forced it out of his clenched teeth, painful and hard: “What?”

Khadgar let out a small smile, the kind that could be interpreted as patronizing but was really just his way of hiding his nervousness.

“I was, um, involved in a transaction, six months ago. The job was simple, I only had to drop the goods at the given location and be on my way, never to be contacted again. I had no idea I would be dropping it off for the mafia or anything, it did seem awfully shifty but I went anyway because if I didn’t, I would lose my job. Anyway. I did what I was told and then, well. I got abducted.”

To himself, he added in a low voice: “As you do.” Then, he coughed, and started again: “I woke up in some sort of basement with a bunch of guys who did not speak English and had ski masks on. I eventually picked up on some French words I learned back in high school but they were heavily accented. I later learned they were from the Corsican mafia. Except the goods I had to deliver, they were for y… for the Irish mafia, I mean. Now these guys, they didn’t know that, and they didn’t know what was inside the bag.”

“What was inside the bag?” suddenly interrupted Lothar.

Khadgar clicked his tongue in annoyance. “No one cares what’s inside the bag. Just listen. They wanted to know, though, so they decided to question me but I pretended like I had no idea either. Eventually, the Irish mafia found the basement I was in and they broke in and they just fired away at anybody who moved. They captured some of the French guys and freed me. Obviously, I had seen too much to just be left alone now so they brought me back to their HQ.”

“As you do,” Lothar interjected. He was seething, not wanting to believe a word Khadgar was saying and yet he found he believed him.

“Exactly. I got put in this room with a blindfold and I was tied to a chair again and by that time, I was really tired so I fell asleep. I woke up in a bed though and there was this man sitting in an armchair doing paperwork. I was really freaked out but he reassured me and talked to me. That was Medivh and he told me nothing would happen to me, that he would make sure of it… On only one condition.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Lothar let out. He stood up then, unable to take it anymore, and walked a few steps forward. He wanted to scream, or cry, or both.

“Lothar—“

“I’m going to kill him,” Lothar seethed. He turned around, gaze murderous and Khadgar was taken aback. Lothar’s face was suddenly inches from hus and his hand squeezed at his collar, lifting Khadgar slightly. Khadgar’s eyes widened in fear. “I’m going to kill you and then I’m going to kill _him_.”

“Hey!” a guard had taken notice of them. “Break it off, you two, will you?” He waved at them with his stick.

Lothar let Khadgar fall without any care. Khadgar ended sprawled on his side on the table, holding his throat and coughing. Lothar was shaking with how much anger was in him.

“Lothar, please,” he heard Khadgar say in between coughs. He almost hit him right then and there. Almost. The kid stood up and walked towards him, tentatively laying a hand on his upper arm. “Listen to me. He did not force me. He asked.”

“I don’t care!”

“Yes, you do!” half-shouted Khadgar. He looked around, not wanting to bring any more unwanted attention on the two of them. “Yes, you do care about what I’ve got to say to you, and yes, you’ll listen to me. Medivh did not force me to come here. He told me he could see how I could be useful in this, he told me about you and then he told me I could turn away from all of this, all of it, and nothing would ever happen to me. He gave me his word.”

“What good is his word?” Lothar hissed.

“His word is everything to me,” told him Khadgar, voice shaking, unable to hide how Lothar’s angered words were affecting him. “He saved my life. He’s the one who found out where they were keeping me. They didn’t even have the bag there, they only had me, and I was nothing, and Medivh made it a point to save me. I owe him everything right now, and you will too, if you just could focus for one damn minute!”

He fell silent, hand still on Lothar’s arm, staring him down with glistening eyes. A single tear fell on his cheek and Lothar watched it as it slid down his chin. Along with the tear, it seemed all his anger dropped, leaving him feeling senseless and exhausted.

“Alright,” he told Khadgar. “Alright. Let’s do this.”  
 


	7. I, 7

##### PART SEVEN [USA, New York City – Lothar’s apartment]: the plan.

Medivh woke up feeling like shit. His head was aching really hard and there was an incessant banging which sent shocks throughout his spine and towards his hands and feet in a way he did not even know was possible. His mouth was dry and his stomach felt like it wanted to empty itself but did not even have the energy to do so anymore. All his limbs felt ten times heavier than he remembered them to be and he was pretty sure he had fallen down at some point what with how his fore arms and knees hurt. He did not actually remember much of last night, so anything was possible.

The banging kept on, somehow gaining strength and it took Medivh a few tries before he could convince himself it did not come from inside his skull but from the door. He dragged himself from the bed to a standing position. He wobbled dangerously, almost fell back on the bed right away. He managed to keep himself upright and cautiously took a first step in the direction of the door.

He had half a mind to call out to whoever was assaulting his door but he thought of the pain his own voice would bring him and thought better of it. He finally reached the door and wrenched it open. He stood there wincing at the person on the other side for a long minute before they talked.

Taria raised a quizzical eyebrow at him, eye slowly looking him up head to toe and back up again.

“Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you like this, do you normally open your door naked?”

Medivh groaned loudly, slamming the door shut without inviting Taria in. He shuffled into the apartment, blindly looking for some pants or really just a blanket or something. He heard Taria open the door and let herself in, even heard the lock be slid into place, a gesture he often overlooked. Taria walked in, and Medivh suddenly found himself with his pants being thrown at him. He put them on with a scowl, his pained eyes slowly adjusting to the bright morning light.

Taria sat on the bed, looking around with a carefully guarded expression. Medivh simply avoided ever looking at the walls.

“We haven’t seen you in four days,” Taria said. 

Medivh groaned in agreement, not knowing what else to say or do. He knew that would only upset Taria more but really, what could she expect from him when she had just woken him up by banging on his door?

His door. This wasn’t his door, nor was it his apartment. Medivh swallowed loudly, and he looked away guiltily, even though Taria was not in his head and could not hear his thoughts.

“What have you been up to?”

“Drinking,” said Medivh honestly.

“I can see that,” added Taria off-handedly, all worried eyes and tight lips. Medivh hated her like that.

“Come here to judge?” he accused him.

Taria simply shook her head, the skin around her eyes and lips pinched.

Medivh hated how well he knew Taria and how he could read her, read her every expressions better than he could his own handwriting. He always knew exactly what she was thinking, what she wanted to say and what she was hiding. He hated this about himself, that he had grown so observant of someone else’s quirks and as such could not be fooled anymore. 

“Want to tell me why you were drinking?”

 _Not really_ , he thought, but did not say. “You know why,” he settled on instead.

“Yes, I do,” was Taria’s answer, and she left it at that.

Medivh was looking out the window, at the neon sign which did not shine nearly as bright in the light, which did not drench the room in sickly green when the sun was out, and suddenly he wished for the night.

“We called him yesterday.”

Medivh did his best not to look interested.

“That was the first we heard of him since we got interrupted on his birthday. But you wouldn’t know that, would you, cause you weren’t here. Anyway, we called him three days ago and as he was on the phone, he got attacked with a chair.”

Medivh turned at that, surprised and more than a little curious.

“What?” he got out.

“I don’t even know,” she answered tiredly. “We did not get any useful news from the prison personnel and all I can tell you is what Lothar had time to tell us yesterday on the phone. He ended up in the infirmary for three days and only got out yesterday. Have you really been drinking for four days?”

The sudden change of topic was one of Taria’s interrogation techniques Medivh was accustomed to, but he let himself fall into the trap because he was tired and hungover and sad.

“No. I spent a lot of time doing nothing.”

“But you got drunk yesterday?”

“That obvious?” he shot back, voice dripping with scathing sarcasm.

“Medivh, you’ve got to stop getting drunk on his birthday.”

“It’s only the second time—“

“Second birthday in two years, thank the Light, I guess.”

Medivh fell silent, shooting daggers at nothing.

“At least you don’t disappoint on the predictable field.”

“Oh, fuck you, Taria.”

“We know what you did, Medivh. We know about Khadgar.”

Medivh let out a dry sob. Taria was at his side in an instant, reaching out. They ended up standing in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around each other like a lifeline, for what seemed like hours.

When they let go, Medivh silently walked to the kitchen and went to boil some water for the tea. In the past four days he had just spent in the apartment, he had only bothered to buy a box of tea and some crackers. He considered it a small achievement, all things considered.

“I just hate… the idea of him spending this day alone,” he whispered, seemingly at no one but he knew Taria was standing right behind him, leaning against the threshold and hearing him.

They went to sit side by side on the bed, steaming cups in their hands. Medivh was raking his brain, trying to come up with something to say, to answer to what Taria had told him. _Khadgar…_ Medivh scowled at the thought of him. He remembered the first time he had seen him, tied and blindfolded and looking like someone had knocked him out cold. It was at this moment he realized just how bad he had let things get amongst the Stormwind ranks. He had let this boy, Light, how old could he be, get captured by another rival gang, had done everything he could to save him only to have his own men tie him down and blindfold him like he was himself some kind of goods. The ruckus he had caused upon hearing, upon seeing him out cold like that, had raised more than a few eyebrows but he had not given a damn. 

He remembered the look on Khadgar’s face when he had finally awoken in Medivh’s own bed, terrified and lost, and traumatized. Medivh had wondered if he had been tortured in any way. He had been too afraid to check if he had been hurt, had only asked him once he had managed to calm him down, but even then, the answer he had been given had been vague and unhelpful. Even so, physical or mental, the kid must have gotten scars out of all of this.

He remembered how miserable he had felt, the very night he had dared ask him a favor out of him. He had played on the whole mafia situation to be able to justify it to himself and acted like the kid somehow owed him. _I could have left you there, you know. I could have let them kill you._ Medivh hated himself. He had called Khadgar in the morning, taken back every single thing he had said, and told him the debt was erased. He had promised him he would do everything to protect him from now on, that no one would ever be able to hurt him, under no circumstances ever. 

“Mind telling me what’s going on, exactly?” finally asked Taria.

Medivh took a large breath, bracing himself. Taria had of course heard of Khadgar, had even met him once, a few days after everything. Khadgar had been into the bar, nursing a drink for one hour, going on two before Medivh finally sat in front of him and asked what the hell he was doing here.

“ _I’m gonna do it._ ”

“ _Beg pardon?_ ”

Khadgar had downed his drink in one go, set it back down on the table with a furious glint in his eye. “ _I’m going to save Lothar._ ”

Taria had arrived, and Light, was the boy observant, because all it had taken was one warning glance from Medivh and he had covered his presence here under the pretense of coming to thank Medivh for saving him. Taria had bought right into it. Afterwards, Khadgar and Medivh had planned it all together, Medivh had called in a few favors from friends with no ties whatsoever to the Irish mafia, and it was Khadgar who hacked the government’s servers. Khadgar who found the plans for the Violet Hold’s prison and figured out how to break out of it from the inside. Khadgar who hatched a fictitious plan to assassinate the president of the United States, blurred his tracks by hacking not only prisons files, but army compounds, administration buildings, and, of course, the White House. It was clever. It was perfect. It was genius.

Khadgar had been arrested and the story had not made front news. The US could not allow such a scandal to be known. Medivh did not even know what excuse they gave to have Khadgar be imprisoned, if they had even needed one. Then, he had wondered if Khadgar had any family who had stopped receiving news one day, and still did not know what had happened to him.

Medivh turned to look at Taria.

“We’re going to save Lothar,” he told her.

Taria snickered. “I can’t believe,” she stopped without finishing her sentence. Her expression was a mixture of worry and surprise, wonder, amazement and it filled Medivh’s heart with something warm and true. He had not said anything to her nor Llane because he knew they would not have approved of the plan. Light, Medivh did not approve of the plan. Sending a twenty-four years old boy, an innocent man who had never done anything wrong in his life, whose only ties to any criminal activity was being a victim of it, sending him into the most dangerous prison in the States, filled with all the worst criminals that exist, only to have him break out of it, making him an outlaw for the rest of his life? It was crazy.

And Taria knew that as well as Medivh. At first, Medivh had wondered if Khadgar realized the whole extent of what they had been planning. But it had become clear that what appeared to him as an innocent boy who had never seen crime in his life was perhaps just an illusion he had harbored. Khadgar was way more dangerous that he had made him out to be and he knew exactly what he was doing.

“So,” Taria started, “what you’re trying to say is, Khadgar is in the Violet Hold right now, for Light knows what, slowly coaxing _Anduin_ into accepting whatever crazy plan you both came up with. _Khadgar_ is doing this.”

Medivh nodded.

“For us,” she finished.

Medivh barked out a laugh at that. “You know what, Taria, I really don’t think he’s doing this for us. I think he’s doing this entirely for himself.”

Taria squinted suspiciously at him. Medivh smiled, a smile full of unknowns and secrets, yet attesting of the complete trust he had come to hold for the boy.

“You fool,” Taria whispered, and she kissed him hard. Medivh gasped, surprised by the suddenness of the action, and melted into the touch. “I still think this is stupid as fuck,” Taria said against his lips.

“It’s a good thing I’ve got you, then,” Medivh whispered right back, “to make sure everything works out.”  
 


	8. I, 8

##### PART EIGHT [USA, New York City - Stormwind HQ]: preparations.

They were back at headquarters as night began to fall. Llane had closed the bar for tonight, and set up a table for them at the far end of the room, prepared some things to eat, figuring they would be hungry, especially knowing Medivh to not be as skilled in cooking as he was. Taria and Medivh sat at the table with thankful smiles.

Llane watched, the anxiety that had been eating at him all day slowly slipping away, listening to the playful banter the two of them fell in not two minutes into the meal. He decided to wait until they were eating dessert before speaking up.

“So. Seeing you’re alive, Med, I’ll wager we’re on board whatever it is you’ve been planning for the past six months.”

Medivh almost choked, and Taria laughed at him, offering a few pats on his back.

“We still need to talk about it,” she said, face turning grim as she looked at Medivh. 

He swallowed and deposited his cutlery on the side of his plate. “I know.”

“Good.”

They fell silent then, the three of them staring at their plate with dark faces.

“When is it due?” suddenly asked Llane, and at his two companions confused frowns, he added: “The escape. When is it supposed to happen?”

Medivh swallowed nervously. “In a month. November 1st.”

The Wrynns nodded slowly, processing the information. “That’s soon. What did you think, that you could swing it on your own?” Llane asked, voice poised and neutral.

“We’ve had help,” Medivh answered, feeling accused despite Llane’s efforts.

“Ah.”

The sound fell short and hard, attesting of Llane’s feelings about not being included in what Medivh called ‘help’. Medivh sighed, thinking this was exactly what he had hoped to avoid during all those months.

“Would you seriously have helped me if I had come to you six months ago? Or would you have tried and stopped me?”

He knew how hurt he sounded, how accusing, but it was true. He could not have believed Llane would have been on board back when they were barely beginning preparations, so why would he have come to him? And, he figured, he had done pretty well without. Everything had gone according to plan, mostly thanks to Khadgar.

Llane stayed silent, unable to find anything to say to prove him wrong. Medivh sighed, frustration bubbling in him. “That’s what I thought,” he dropped.

He got up and walked to the bar, knowingly opening the cabinet where they kept the whiskey, and poured himself a glass. He stayed at the bar, standing and drinking slowly, hearing behind him as Llane collected their plates from the table, the loud clattering indicating how angry he felt. _That makes two of us_ , Medivh thought bitterly. 

The door slammed shut behind Llane, resonating in the silent dinner room like a sentence. Taria stood up quietly, coming to rest a hand on Medivh’s shoulders, and told him:

“I’ll take care of him.”

Medivh shot her a thankful smile. She left, closing the door carefully behind her. She found Llane angrily scrubbing at the plates, muttering incentives under his breath. She stopped at the door, leaning against the frame, and watched him without a word. Eventually, he raised his head and noticed her.

“I know,” he simply warned.

Taria shook her head, thinking this was the second time today she had had to take care of an angry man and perhaps it was time to reconsider her life choices. But even as she thought that, she felt a rush of affection for these two men and could not imagine herself without them. Now, if only she had her brother back too…

“Why are you so opposed to this plan? Because it’s against the law? May I remind you what we do for a living?”

Llane slammed the clean plate on the counter, and Taria started. The plate thankfully did not break. Llane stilled, hands shaking hard, and he gripped the counter, knuckles going white. 

“Then what is it? Talk to me, please, Llane…”

Taria came closer to him. He stopped her from reaching out, hand raised and the other flat on his mouth, trying to muffle the sobs that were suddenly threatening to break free. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. Taria knew that he hated how miserable and vulnerable crying made him feel. She rarely saw him cry because he rarely let himself. It didn’t surprise her his walls came tumbling down right now. The situation was hard on all of them, but Llane had a responsibility towards his men, one that she knew brought him a lot of stress and pain, if the sleepless nights and days when he just did not say a word to her were any indication. 

He calmed himself, the tears receding, taking large intakes of breath, letting them go shakily. Taria settled, back to the counter, both of them facing another direction and not the other. She waited patiently, as she always did for him.

“It’s not,” he hesitated, swallowing. “It’s not because I don’t miss him, or, I don’t know, don’t want him to get out, but…”

Taria shifted, munching the inside of her cheek until she could taste blood. She itched to reach out to him, to hold him against her and convey to him all the support and love she wanted him to feel coming from her. “I know,” she said instead.

“It’s not like I never thought about it,” Llane kept on. “Saving him. Even though I know the rules. One of us gets caught by the State, you don’t try anything reckless, cause the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one, I get it. I racked my brain for months before and after the trial, trying to figure out if we could do anything, but really, they had us. We couldn’t _do_ anything. And I hated that so I thought… Giving up the family, the business. And saving him.”

His voice rattled and wavered and she had to strain her ears to hear each word. His lips shook again like with a sob but no sound came out.

“But I never did it,” he whispered. “I couldn’t bring myself to, for whatever reason. I kept coming up with plans and tactics, how we could go around security and get him out of there, but you know what, Taria? In each of these scenarios I came up with, he never made it out alive. I couldn’t keep him safe.”

Taria’s breath hitched.

“And then there was Medivh, and his nightmares, and the business slowly falling to shit, and there was so much to take care of. I gave up. Taria, I gave up on him.”

He sounded so horrified when saying these words, Taria couldn’t take it anymore and she forced him into a hug, winding her fingers in his hair as he finally let go of his pride and let himself cry. She held him through the sobs and the wails, hushing him and caressing his hair slowly, at a loss what more to do to get him to calm down. She figured the best was to let him have this, a few minutes of pain to let it all out before he closed off again, afraid and ashamed of his tears. She wished he didn’t know shame with her.

When he stopped shaking and crying, Taria expected him to push her away, yet he did nothing to break off their embrace. Instead, he tightened his hold on her, breathing in deeply.

“And now Khadgar’s involved too,” he whispered.

Despite his never having met Khadgar, he knew enough of him from Taria keeping tabs on him. Once she had learned exactly who he was and what had happened to him after he had come to the bar to thank Medivh, she had done everything she could to not let him out of her sight. She would have been damned before anyone laid a hand on him. Yet she had been completely oblivious to his involvement with Medivh. 

“Taria… I’m so afraid,” Llane told her, and she could feel his jaw working against her neck. “What if. What if they die?”

“Oh, Llane,” she sighed, pulling her husband away and kissing his cheek, his jawline, his eyelid, anywhere she could reach. She put her hands on either side of his head, staring right into his eyes. “What good does it do to worry about that now?” She shook her head quietly, smiling. “It is done. Now we must do everything in our power to make sure that _does not_ happen.”

He smiled ruefully, his eyes remaining sad and lost.

“I wish he had not gone behind our backs,” he admitted.

“And there is nothing you could have done to prevent it,” she said, her voice admitting no reply. “If anything, I think Medivh was right to do so.”

Llane opened his mouth to protest but she stopped him before he could say another word. “Don’t,” she warned. “We’re saving my brother, and that’s it.”

They stared down at each other, until Llane nodded, face showing as much defeat as renewed confidence.

“Alright,” he said. 

Taria smiled proudly. “I knew you’d come around,” she pecked him on the cheek. “Come now.”

She took his hand and led him back to the main room where Medivh still stood, staring at the glass he had emptied, and wondering whether to fill it up again. Taria arrived just in time to snatch the whisky away from him, muttering “No more of that for you, tonight, dear.” He only whimpered slightly at the bottle getting away from him.

He frowned ostentatiously when he was met face to face with Llane, who wore a mirror expression. They still addressed each other in stilted sentences but Taria considered it an achievement when they reached the end of the night having caught up with everything and having figured out where to go from there. The sun was beginning to fill the street when she finally clapped her hands, making the two men jump out of their skin, and got up to make coffee.

They accepted the cups with equal expression of exhaustion which made her chuckle. She enjoined them both to go to sleep, telling them she’d take care of business for today. Their protest was weak and short-lived and they did as they were told.

Taria went back to the main room, clearing out their coffee cups and swiping the table once. The first employee clocked in and she left her to take care of the front while she went out back to check on things. Sure enough, there were some suppliers waiting for her in the office. She braced herself, knowing she would have to persevere through the day without giving in to her exhaustion.

Around midday, she found herself a few minutes of peace and she sat down at her office, blank paper staring at her. She twirled the pen a few times between her fingers before setting the tip on the paper.

 _Dear Anduin_ , she started.

 


	9. I, 9

##### PART NINE [USA, Dalaran County Prison – cell n°51]: sentence.

Khadgar and Lothar spent the next three weeks meeting up in the yard after dinner, the only place they could speak freely without fear of being overheard. Still, Lothar could not help but notice how the guards had started staring at them with suspicion gleaming in their eyes. He was sure they needed to find some other way to discuss, and soon. He did not want to worry Khadgar, though, so he did not bring it up.

Khadgar had filled him in on everything that had happened since he had been locked up. His initial anger against Medivh had gradually disappeared, replaced by a dull feeling of apprehension that would catch hold of him in the dead of night. Lothar had never felt so alone.

Yet, he had to admit Khadgar’s presence was a soothing balm on both his loneliness and his nerves. Lothar had not had an outburst for weeks, and for that, he was grateful to the kid. But he could not shake the feeling of wrongness that came from seeing the kid around the prison, surrounded by the worst criminals Azeroth held, or at least what were thought to be Azeroth’s worst—Lothar knew better. Even though, he hardly believed Khadgar had his place around here. He had refused to tell him what had won him a place in the specific ward Lothar was in, but he now knew that to not have been any coincidence. Lothar strongly suspected Medivh to have had a heavier hand in that than Khadgar had let on from their talks.

Khadgar had told him all about the plan they had come up with, behind Lothar’s back, behind Stormwind’s, behind the government’s, behind everyone’s backs. It seemed on this planet, only Khadgar and Medivh ever knew the whole extent of the thing they were planning. Even those that had helped them were only privy of the barest minimum of information so as to be able to help, but not understand what they were helping for. At some moments, when Khadgar babbled on and Lothar only scarcely listened to him, watching his mouth move more than he heard anything that came out of it, Lothar was stricken by the sheer genius Khadgar had shown and was still showing.

They ended up talking about a lot more than simply the plan to escape, mainly because of Lothar’s reluctance about it. He did not like thinking about it. He was afraid, mostly for himself, because no one had been successful in escaping the Violet Hold and everyone who had attempted had never been heard of or seen afterwards. But he was also afraid for Khadgar, Khadgar who was so young and did not deserve to be in the Violet Hold in the first place nor to get killed for having tried to escape it. So Lothar avoided the subject, asking all the questions he had been meaning to ask about the business, about his friends, his sister, all that he could not ask on the phone nor write in a letter.

He came to understand Khadgar was not part of Stormwind, had never been introduced properly and had actually been quite actively sheltered from the mafia life, as much as he could when planning to infiltrate a prison to help a mafia convict escape. But apart from Medivh, he had had little to no contact with the family, and had added that Medivh had made sure of that, protected him in a sort. The irony of it did not escape Lothar, when Khadgar was now locked up alongside him. Even though it seemed at first like the stupidest plan Lothar had ever heard of, he had had to admit quite quickly that it might have been the most sensible one. Even though, there was absolutely no guarantee it would work. Lothar could not believe it would.

Another interesting piece of information Lothar came upon, quite randomly, during one of Khadgar’s long rant about whatever he was going off about at the time, was that Khadgar was only in for two years. Lothar had reeled at hearing this, not reacting fast enough to stop Khadgar and ask him about it. When he had interrupted him, Khadgar had had no idea what Lothar could be referring to.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Khadgar had stalled, hesitated before saying: “that the catfish is the only animal to have an odd number of whiskers, and that no one, no scientist ever, could ever find out why?”

Lothar had had to chuckle at that, realizing at once that Khadgar was very much off track and they had probably not exchanged any useful information for almost half an hour now, the world around them growing darker by the minute. They would soon have to retreat to their cells for the night.

“No, not that, the, uh…” Lothar’s eyes had flickered to Khadgar’s wide, curious one, and it had hit him all at once, that for all of his twenty-four years, another fact Lothar had been baffled to hear, this kid in front of him was just that: a kid. A kid in for two years in the worst ward there was in the country, for whatever obscure reason he and Medivh had sold to the government. Two years of this and he would be free. Lothar was in for life and this kid would be out in two years.

He could not deny the burst of jealousy, the feeling of unfairness and contempt against Khadgar that had filled him at the time. He had shaken his head, enjoining Khadgar to resume his talk of catfish or whatever, and had not listened to another word, had not even looked at him as Khadgar talked on and on excitedly with this passion of his that seemed to pertain to every area of science, technology, art. Khadgar held a world of wonders, and he was entirely ready to sacrifice it in order to save Lothar.

He had not slept at all that night, turning and trashing in his bed, Khadgar’s voice repeating over and over “ _Two years, two years…_ ” It was unfair because he did not deserve this, Khadgar did not deserve to die at twenty-four for him. Lothar could not imagine any other outcome to this. Every day that passed brought that much more attention to the both of them, that much more stares and whispers in the halls, in the yard, when Lothar sat alone to eat and he felt it everywhere around him. He had never felt safe, per se, but he had created himself such a reputation that no one would have approached him willingly, and even sometimes it took more than a little coercion for anyone to so much as address him. He had not been safe, but he had protected himself, and every day that passed, Lothar could feel that protection fraying at the edges and it was like the horde of convicts was staring down at him, ready to pounce and devour him.

It was selfish, he realized one morning, brushing his teeth idly. He thought of Khadgar, who was sacrificing everything, he thought of Medivh, who had spent months of his life trying to get him out and all that would be for nothing because there is no way out of the Hold. He thought of Taria and Llane who called him every week now, asking how he was, and now even asking after Khadgar. It seemed Medivh had filled them in, told them what was going on, what was being prepared. It was selfish to bring them all down with him. Lothar could not let that happen.

That sentiment was quickly replaced, though, by a mixture of anger and frustration that aimed itself first at himself, for being selfish, and then, as his thoughts came round, at Khadgar, to finally affix themselves at Medivh. Lothar was not being selfish here. He had never asked anyone to save him. He knew the rules better than anyone else, he was the one who was suffering and lost forever in this hole and who would never get out. It was the ones who were free who were responsible. It was Medivh and Khadgar who came up with the plan, Khadgar who willingly got himself locked up in order to find Lothar, to force that plan he had cooked up on him, to tell him “I’m going to save you” like that was what Lothar had been waiting for all this time, filling his room with books and pictures in order to make it feel a little bit more like home, well aware he would be spending the rest of his life in it.

No, Lothar was not selfish, not at all. Khadgar was. Khadgar, who thought he could just barge into his life, proclaiming loud and clear to be his savior, like some kind of guardian angel sent by providence. But he was no angel, and he was not sent by any superior power that ruled the Earth and men. Medivh had sent him. Medivh had thought up a plan which involved getting a damned kid locked up in order to save a man who did not even want to be saved.

Lothar was not even sure Khadgar was the selfish one in this story. Khadgar had no idea what he was signing up for. He had been a lost kid, trying to not lose his job, who had gotten abducted and in all probability tortured and whom Medivh had saved, had promised he would leave him be and protect him. Khadgar had had no choice but to accept when he had asked “ _Will you help me…_ ” Khadgar had been asked to sacrifice himself, his life, his future to help a stranger, by the man who had saved him. How could he have possibly said no? How could he have refused the man he owed his life to? Medivh must have sold it good to him, told him he had nothing to fear and if he just did as he was told… everything would be alright.

In the end, Medivh was the selfish one. He was jeopardizing the whole business, throwing all the men who worked for him under the bus, along with his bosses, Llane and Taria, and their bosses because then the whole of the Irish mafia would be involved because _someone_ decided to break the number one rule.

When one of us goes down, we don’t go after them. We let the cops and the government and whoever’s in charge take them down and that’s it. In the best of cases, they’re out in ten years and go back to business like nothing ever happened. In the worst case, they spend the rest of their lives holed up in a state prison and they don’t complain about it. That’s what they signed up for, that’s the rules of belonging to the family.

Lothar never complained. Not when the cops burst into his apartment at five am, not when they shot him straight in the chest even though he was only wearing sweatpants, not a single weapon he could reach, before he could even scream. He did not complain at the trial, when they claimed he had a gun pointed at them and had been threatening them. He did not complain when he was tied to chair in a basement and tortured to get some information out of him, any information and he had not said a word. He had not betrayed. And he had not even complained when he had gotten the crap beaten out of him on his very first week in the Hold, shivering naked on the showers’ floor, exactly the same as Khadgar when he had found him.

No. Lothar was not selfish. Khadgar was not either, because he was sacrificing himself, had already done so, multiple times, tortured by officials, beaten by both convicts and guards alike, and still he blabbered on about science, and tech, and art like he had his whole life before him.

Medivh, on the other hand, had not sacrificed anything, apart from those months he had spent planning a rescue no one but him had asked for. All of this had been done for him. All of this was because of him. And Medivh was the one betraying the very first rule of the family. You don’t go after a fallen brother.

Anger bubbled dark and blazing in Lothar’s heart, as he kicked the blanket off of him and sat up in his bed. His entire body was shaking with the fury that ran through his veins, with the rage that threatened to spill from his eyes in burning trails of tears. He jumped to his feet, discarding the sheets that almost made him trip, and grabbed the pen and paper that always lied on his desk. He paced through his cell, mind burning from a fire he did not know how to douse. Finally, he huddled against his cell’s bars, the closest possible to the only source of light in the blacked out ward. The sickly green of the exit sign shone weakly on the paper, his hands shaking with every word he scratched out. He had never hated and loved it, all at the same time, so much as he did now.

When he was done, and the two sides of the paper were black with ink and hateful words, Lothar stared at the exit sign, unseeing, or perhaps seeing more than he ever imagined he could. His eyes flickered to a shadow that stood unmoving, to eyes which barely reflected the green neon and stared right at him, huddled that he was against the cold bars. The guard stared and stared as Lothar held his gaze, until he approached him slowly, almost fearfully, and Lothar wondered what he looked like, shaking life a leaf and face distorted in rage, bathing in neon green like it was the moonlight. Lothar slipped the letter into an envelope, messily wrote down the address and slowly handed the closed envelope to the guard’s offered hand. They did not speak a word, and the letter passed from one hand to the other like a careless whisper.

Lothar was sure the letter would find its destination, unread but by the one it was written to. There was something about this guard, in the way his fingers tightened around the letter once he had gripped it, the way he walked away, slipping it in his back pocket without even so much as glancing at the address. Lothar felt a wave of trust and relief and sagged back down against the bars, his shaking legs stretching in the dark in front of him. It would be an hour before the convicts were to wake up and Lothar sighed.

Tonight, he would speak to Khadgar, he thought, and fell into a black undisturbed sleep.  
 


	10. I, 10

##### PART TEN [USA, Dalaran County Prison – the yard]: the break.

Lothar ate his meal in silence, not bothering to acknowledge the numerous glances that were directed at him at increasing pace. He was used to it, by now, had grown used to the whispers that surrounded him daily when he was only trying to eat in peace. But Lothar did not care, tonight. He only cared about eating his meal as fast as he could and stepping out into the yard, so he could finally breathe and give a break to his head after yet another day spent in the sewing room.

He swallowed the last of his peas, discarded his plate on the automated line, and left the room, overly conscious of the gazes that followed him all the way until the door. He did not realize someone was following him until he crossed the yard doors, not hearing them swing back behind him. He sidestepped, turning around and he pushed his arm across someone’s neck, flattening them against the wall.

It was a man of small stature, with shifty, jumping eyes, and he was chocking, feet desperately searching for the ground. Lothar pressed his back against the wall further, eyes blazing.

“What the _fuck_ do you want?”

The man continued chocking, his cheeks becoming a darker shade of red with every breath he tried to take. Eventually, Lothar had to accept he wouldn’t answer if he kept his forearm pressed against his trachea. The man dropped to the floor, coughing and wheezing loudly, and Lothar looked around, worried about the guards. There were two of them posted at a distance which could not have possibly prevented them from seeing what Lothar had just done. They remained motionless and seemingly oblivious, and Lothar squinted at the both of them.

A hand wrapped itself around his thigh, and Lothar yelped. He slapped the hand off, taking a step back away from the man that had been following him. He took hold of the wall like he had tried Lothar’s leg in order to heft himself up. He finally managed to stand up, still looking wobbly on his feet.

“Anduin Lothar, right?” he asked in a raspy voice.

“Yeah?” he barked.

“Hold on, no need to yell at me like that!”

“I wasn’t the one following another!” Lothar took a step forward, forcing the other to retreat until his back was against the wall.

“Alright, ok, chill, please,” the other’s eyes jumped anxiously from Lothar’s right to his left, never stopping once on his face, and it drove him crazy.

“So what the fuck is it you want?” he asked again, resisting the urge to slam his arm across his throat again.

“You’re close to that one kid, right? Whatever his name is, but I’ve seen you and him more than once out in the yard, no?”

Confused anger flamed in Lothar’s stomach. “Yeah, so?”

“I thought perhaps you’d like to know. He got himself pretty messed up this morning. Ended up in the infirmary again, pretty sure it’s not the first time, you’d know. Looking up to a few days in confinement, I’d wager.”

Lothar was not listening anymore, the word “infirmary” echoing in his head. He recoiled, feet scuffling as he stepped back, letting the little man escape. He tried to make sense of the words, wondering what had happened, did it really happen this morning? How long had Khadgar been hurt, held up in the infirmary, was he conscious, was he alone?

It took him seconds before making his decision, walking back into the building and straight to the infirmary ward. The doctor stopped him at the door, asking him what he was doing here and if he needed help.

“I need to see him,” he panted.

The way she pursed her lips, eyes softening in pity, made him want to heave.

“Who is it you’re here for?” she asked.

“Khad... Khadgar…” he faltered. Only then did he realize he did not know Khadgar’s last name.

The doctor looked around, like she was about to tell him something she was not supposed to know.

“We’ve only had one man in today. He was pretty badly off, took a few hits to the jaw and neck and got his arm twisted but nothing broke.”

“Is he alright? Can I see him?” In the back of his mind, Lothar knew he sounded and looked more desperate than he probably should allow himself to show.

“Well. He’s been led to solitary confinement.”

Lothar whimpered, and caught hold of the counter so as not to fall down.

“How many days?” he asked her, the sounds hardly leaving his throat because of how winded he felt.

“Three, is what the warden told me,” and she turned back to her paperwork as though to indicate he wouldn’t get anything more from her.

He stumbled back out of the infirmary, walking idly through the halls. He could not go back to his cell, not yet. They would not allow it. He found himself yearning for Khadgar’s presence and told himself “He is gone three days. Three days. You’ll survive. Haven’t you survived two years in this hole already?” but no matter how much he repeated it, he still could not believe it.

He still did not know what had happened. Why was Khadgar the one in confinement when he was the one who had needed medical care? If he had gotten into a fight, surely there would have been two of them, no? Why was no one else punished for it?

Unconsciously, Lothar found himself pushing the door to the yard again. The sun had already set and the yard was dark, the only light coming from powerful projectors set on the prison’s wall. The far side of the yard was completely drenched in darkness. Lothar walked towards the fence, settling on one of the tables, in the same manner he would if Khadgar was beside him. It struck him then how easily he had let Khadgar become a part of his life and how normal he always found his presence.

His absence, however, was painfully noted.

The next three days almost made him forget about his decision to call the escape plan off, yet he was reminded of it sharply when, on the third night, he saw Khadgar walk into the mess hall. The wave of relief, of happiness that overcame him settled in his gut like it had always belonged there. But then, he felt his heart sink as he took notice of the dark bruises which covered Khadgar’s face and the painful, still dark red marks on his throat. Lothar recognized those marks and anger spiked in him. He had been choked. By who? And why? Confusion swam in his mind.

He was not the only one to have noticed Khadgar entering and almost everyone stared in silence as he walked towards the food line, accepting his plate without a word, and going to sit at a mostly empty table. Once he was sat, all eyes turned to Lothar, who looked down as quickly. Questions and doubts fought for dominance in his head, yet above them all was his worry which pulsed like blood in his ears. He wondered why Khadgar had not come and sit with him. Perhaps he had not seen him, he thought, despite reason telling him that was virtually impossible. Not with the ten feet radius around him, which resisted the sudden and annoying new found curiosity the inmates had about him. Then why hadn’t he?

Lothar tampered at the disappointment in his chest, finished his plate, got up and left the room, resisting the urge to glance at Khadgar. It was mere minutes before he heard footsteps behind him. He was sitting on what had become his usual table for the past three nights. He knew immediately it was Khadgar coming up behind him, simply for the fact no one had come the nights before and this was their meeting spot. Lothar had not dared hope he would come, though.

Khadgar sat beside him, hands in his pocket and eyes on the sky where stars shone brightly. Lothar allowed himself to stare, just for a bit, just because he had not seen him in three days and because he was looking away. He stared at this moonlit face, those eyes full of the stars’ light, and he found himself unable to say all that he had wanted to say. Unable to say anything at all. 

Khadgar did not speak either. They could have stayed there for hours, without saying a word, if it had not been for a guard calling after them, yelling about wanting them in his line of sight or something. They chuckled lightly, the action enough for the glass to break like it had never existed between them, sharing amused glances. They relocated on a table closer to a wall, sitting as they were sat before, and this time it was Khadgar who was staring at Lothar as he looked away.

“I’m sorry,” Khadgar said.

Lothar’s head swiveled violently. “For what?”

“Getting myself locked in confinement,” he scuffed his feet on the ground, put his hands in his pockets again, looking awkward. “It was stupid.”

“What d’you do?”

Khadgar sighed. “It was—It was nothing, really. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“I’m not worried,” he said simply. “What d’you do?”

The next sigh to leave his mouth was irritated but the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth removed all sting from it.

“I, well. For one, I started the fight.” 

Lothar hummed.

“And then, well, I got the shit beaten out of me, as you can, er, probably guess.”

“Why d’you start a fight?”

“Light, Lothar, I don’t—“

“It’s a simple question.”

“Fuck you.”

It was plain and clear and painfully simple. Lothar had not been expecting it. He shifted in his seat, nervous.

“Sorry. I’m just trying to understand. They locked you up three days and yet no one else seemed to have been involved in any fight. So who d’you cross?”

Silence, and Lothar had to turn and look at the kid, and their gazes crossed and locked. Lothar did not think Khadgar’s eyes could be described as objectively beautiful as they were this simple brown, looking almost black, yet Lothar wished to call them that nonetheless.

Khadgar’s jaw was working, words caught in his throat but no sound would come out, until he dropped his chin.

“Do we have to talk about this right now?”

Lothar felt a shiver, simultaneously taking notice of the night and the cold surrounding them, and of the sheer relief that was threatening to burst out of him ever since Khadgar had joined him out in the yard. He scoffed, more amused at himself than at Khadgar yet he received a dirty glare. He shifted again, this time to get settled more comfortably, taking in the star-filled sky. He rested his hands against the table, fingers inches away from Khadgar’s hip. He managed to remain perfectly still as Khadgar removed his hand from his pocket and slowly, softly covered his hand with his own. If Lothar’s lips stretched a bit, he hoped it got lost in the dark of the falling night.

“Khadgar,” he started.

“Yeah?” was the immediate and breathless response, and Khadgar’s eyes were two glowing orbs. 

Lothar swallowed. “I just wanted to say…”

He hesitated for about a second, getting lost in thoughts and in the wonder and anticipation which made Khadgar’s eyes look so big.

“You don’t have to do this,” Lothar told him.

Khadgar was the embodiment of confusion.

“Helping me.”

He opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but Lothar stopped him.

“Think about it! You only have two years in that place! Two years and you’re free, back to your life, and you don’t have to worry about nothing ever again. But try and leave this place… You’re going to die, Khadgar.”

A silence. Khadgar was looking down at his feet, his face obscured and his hand back in his pocket. Lothar had stood up, and now stared down at him, eyebrows upturned and mouth a tight line, practically begging him.

“You think I’m doing this for you?”

It was so low Lothar could barely hear it. “…sorry?”

“You think all this is about you?”

Khadgar lifted his head up, voice and jawline hard all the same, a fire burning in his eyes. He was shaking just slightly, almost unperceptively but for the tremor that got in his fingers as he pressed them against the table.

“You think,” his voice rose to clamor in the empty silent yard, and he looked around guiltily, staring back at Lothar and continuing in a hard whisper, “I can just leave you here and be on my way? Hm? Is that what you think?”

Lothar did not answer, holding his gaze with his own, cold one. 

“Or is that what you want?”

He was surprised at that, that Khadgar would think for a moment that Lothar would somehow prefer to stay here. All that he had thought up, all that he had planned on saying got lost.

“Cause if it is,” and Khadgar’s voice broke, “then suit yourself. I won’t stop you. You’re a free man—well, you’re locked up but you still got some freedom, right. Then so be it. I won’t help you. And you’re right, you know, I don’t know how you know, but you’re right. I do only have two years in this hole and then I’m gone and you won’t have to worry about me ever again. So if that’s what you want…”

Khadgar shook his head, slowly, eyes dropping their steel-like edge for a second as he looked at Lothar, standing shell shocked in front of him. Then, he pushed away from the table, and away from Lothar, and went back into the building. Lothar watched him go, a part of him wanting to scream or run after him or do something, but the other part was stronger. The one that was angry, and frustrated, and upset, not at Khadgar but because of him. Because he was right.

Lothar had only been thinking about himself, even as he thought he was being considerate towards Khadgar. And he did, in fact, want to worry about Khadgar again, and see him again, and he did not want to think of the day when he would be gone. Because his existence here had only been made brighter and better by Khadgar’s presence, and the last few days had only been a hard reminder of that. He did not know Khadgar’s reasons, but surely he must have some more reasons than simply owing his life to Medivh. At least, Lothar was coming to realize that Khadgar was not doing this for him, or for Medivh, or for anyone else for that matter. Khadgar was entirely doing this for himself. And Lothar would be damned if he refused the kid now.  
 


	11. I, 11

##### PART ELEVEN [USA, Dalaran County Prison – mess hall]: moragg.

The date of their escape was drawing near and yet they had not talked about it further. A few days after they had fought, Lothar had found Khadgar waiting for him in the yard after dinner. He had apologized, and told him he was in. Khadgar had not had any reaction, only accepted his apology with a nod. They had engaged in small talk after that, stilted and awkward until curfew.

It was only too soon before Lothar walked up to the yard doors and found them close. He cursed, violently wrenching the handle to no avail. He thought furiously about what they were supposed to do now that they had nowhere to talk in peace. Khadgar would only head towards the yard in a half hour once he had finished eating. They were still in different shifts, Khadgar working in the yard and Lothar in sewing. Khadgar would be pleased to learn the yard was closed: it meant the stacks of leaves would stop getting disrupted every night after he had worked all day on them. But it also meant they now had no other options but to meet in the recreation ward, where all the other inmates were.

Lothar was close to getting desperate. This very morning, Lothar had woken up to find out a letter had arrived for him. His heart had missed a beat and he had received the envelope with shaking hands. Having taken a closer look at it, however, he recognized his own handwriting, itched across the paper in wobbly lines and curls. All at once, all that he had felt the night he had written it came back to him, exacerbated by the fact the letter had been returned to him. It had been opened once, so it was safe to assume it had been read. Lothar threw it away without bothering to open it. 

It did not help that there were three days before November and they still had not breached the subject of the escape since their fight. He suspected Khadgar had not forgiven him for his words. He wondered whether he had listened to him and decided Lothar really was not worth it. Perhaps he had decided to wait patiently until the end of his sentence and leave Lothar to rot in prison for the rest of his life.

Lothar would not blame him. In a way, he hoped that was it. If anything good could come out of any of this, it would be that Khadgar realize how much more important his life was compared to anyone else’s. Lothar had not known that soon enough.

Somehow, though, Lothar doubted it to be true. Khadgar had been too angry at the mere thought of abandoning Lothar for him to have come to terms with it. And now, Lothar himself did not want that anymore. When only a week ago he would have given up his life and freedom to save Khadgar, he had now accepted that Khadgar did not want him to sacrifice himself. In a way, Lothar felt now as if he owed Khadgar to save himself.

He leaned against the wall, head hitting the bricks with a dull thump. He breathed deeply, trying to work out the anxiety that had been slowly building up in him at the prospect of running away. He had never let himself hope, instead had given in to the thought of spending his entire life in here so easily. In just a week of actively thinking about being free again, he had realized the desire of freedom had never really left him, he had just been ignoring it for so long. He felt a new kind of youth running through his veins, at the thought of seeing the sun from another yard than the prison’s, seeing his sister again, and his friends, seeing the bar. He ached to be free.

He heard footsteps down the corridor. He was about to move to greet Khadgar when he realized he could hear several people walking. They were still hidden from sight, and the sounds of steps stopped suddenly. There were rushed whispers before a grunt could be heard, the sound of something hitting something else, followed by heavy breathing. Lothar stayed unmoving, straining to hear and ready to pounce in case. There were more obvious sounds of a struggle, and the hallway fell silent. Lothar waited a few seconds before he moved, getting closer to the sounds, trying to keep quiet. He came to a stop when a raspy voice rose, right around the corner, breaking the silence.

“Thought you could escape me, pussy?”

There was a chuckle, and Lothar froze.

“That’s the best you’ve got?” Khadgar answered.

A shiver ran down Lothar’s back and he had to stop himself from jumping in right there and then. Something stopped him though, and he kept listening.

“Puh, you don’t deserve more,” the other man was saying. “I should’ve killed you the other time.”

“Then why didn’t you?” said Khadgar, voice dripping with venom.

“You bastard—“

“Yes, bastard! I am a bastard! What are you gonna do, hit me? You already did that and what did it bring you?”

“Will you shut up? It’s like you want to be hit!”

“You want to challenge me?”

“You’re not worth it!”

There was a thump, and Khadgar cried out. 

“Why do you keep defending him?”

There was a hint of genuine curiosity in the man’s gruff voice. With a start, Lothar recognized it as Moragg’s. He wondered if he had been referencing to Khadgar’s very first day when Moragg and his men had beaten him up. Lothar had stepped in, that day. Guilt twisted in his gut as he fought against the desire to interfere. He remained put.

“How the fuck has that guy become so important to you? He’s nothing, always pushing people away! Not like the rest of us, always thinking himself superior when he’s just another criminal with nothing to be proud of, ain’t he? So what is it, eh? What’s he got that you got all defensive, wanting to beat me up when I was talking about him the other day? What did that bring you, except a day at the infirmary and three more in confinement? Or is it he’s just been giving you all that you need when no one’s watching cause he’s just a dirty _faggot_!”

The word shattered like glass and Lothar gasped. He clasped a hand on his own mouth, praying for it to not have been heard. It took him a few seconds to realize what had resonated so loudly had not been simply the word in his head but the blow that had resounded almost as soon as Moragg had spoken. What followed sounded like a body hitting a hard surface and muffled grunts. Intrigued, and because he could hear whispers, Lothar decided to glance down the corridor to figure out what was happening.

He could not have prepared himself for what he saw. Part of him was genuinely impressed, the other was quite terrified. Moragg was a large muscular man, towering above most, grown stouter even by the exercises he did each night in his cell. He was known for his violence and strength amongst the Violet Hold prisoners. Next to him, Khadgar, who was already a short man, looked so ridiculously small. Yet in this moment, it was obvious who had the upper hand and who was being looked down on. Khadgar had captured Moragg in an arm hold and he held his face flush against the wall, having bent the other’s knees so that he only had to lean forward and he could speak directly into the other’s ear, which he was doing right now. 

From his place, Lothar could not hear one word nor could he hope to read Khadgar’s lips. But the look on Moragg’s face was expressive enough: it filled second by second with more horror than Lothar had ever thought humanly possible to experience. It was however the expression on Khadgar’s face which provoked such similar terror in Lothar even though it was not directed at him. His jaw was so tightly shut, his bones jutting out through the skin, all sharp lines and hard angles. His eyes burned with fury and his lips were twisted in a sneer, speaking through his teeth and his voice, if Lothar could have heard it, seethed and whistled with how low Khadgar’s anger had it pitched. He looked in this moment as an angel of fire and darkness, and all the light was gone from his eyes. Lothar could not rip his gaze away.

Suddenly, Khadgar released his hold on Moragg. The terrified man did not hesitate for one second and started running. He skidded to a panicked stop in front of Lothar, looking like a deer caught in headlights. He opened and closed his mouth several times, muttered something unintelligible, eyes so unbelievably wide. Lothar himself was at a loss what to say, what to do. Eventually, Moragg pushed past him, running away at incredible speed. Lothar turned to watch him go, mind reeling and a tremor settling in his bones.

He could feel Khadgar’s presence behind him, the weight of his gaze on the back of his head. Anduin turned slowly, consciously setting his features so they showed none of the fear he felt. It twisted in his gut, low and painful, not completely defined yet but blooming. He half expected Khadgar to be looking at him with an unreadable expression, half wished for it. But instead, Khadgar had a deep sorrowful face, eyes so unbelievably sad, and it broke Anduin’s heart. 

All of Anduin’s barriers came tumbling down under the strength of this gaze.

They were both moving towards the other before either of them could realize what they were doing. They met in the middle, two bodies finding each other half way, a beautiful collide which exploded in sparks in Anduin’s stomach. He cradled Khadgar’s face in between his hands, softly brushing against his reddening cheeks, swiping the blood across his cheekbone where it had been cut by one particularly powerful blow.

“Are you alright?” he breathed out, as Khadgar’s own hand found the back of his neck, his hip, and just held him.

Khadgar shook his head and did not answer. His eyes were stormy with unshaped thoughts fighting for dominance in his head. Delayed panic made his breath come out in short, loud puffs, and he held onto Anduin with such strength he was sure to leave marks.

“Jesus,” Anduin said, “what did you even tell him?”

His eyes were crinkled with relief as they roamed Khadgar’s face, taking in each detail like he had never seen him before. It made Khadgar’s heart jump and race almost painfully. It felt like his heart wanted to burst out of him and it did, in small chuckles which turned in full-blown laughter, Anduin joining him. He soon found himself pulled flush into a bone-crushing hug, face smashed against Anduin’s chest. He could feel it rumble with every relieved laugh that escaped.

When they finally parted, their laughter had finally died down, but they did not let go of each other. They searched each other’s eyes, and hesitated for barely a second before their lips met. Although it was driven by passion, the kiss in itself was sweet and soft, Anduin’s hand curling in Khadgar’s hair and his mouth pressing slowly against his. It lasted for a few seconds only and they rested their foreheads together, breathing in the other’s presence, letting it calm their racing hearts.

“Khadgar.”

He hummed in answer. Anduin put his hands on the sides of his face, soft against his ears, pulling softly so Khadgar was looking at him. There was a sharp glint in his eyes.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Khadgar smiled so widely his cheeks hurt.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Let’s get out of here.”

A last chuckle escaped his throat, the kind that best expressed the specific kind of shock, excitement and disbelief he felt in this instant. He pressed a second kiss to Anduin’s mouth, relishing in the moment, before parting from him reluctantly. His mind, having come down from the high of the fight and the relief afterwards, was rapidly getting into motion.

“Let’s go to your cell,” he told Anduin.

“What?”

“Your cell,” he repeated, fixing Anduin with an inquisitive glare. “We need to plan.”

“We can’t go to the cells yet.”

Khadgar smiled. 

“Who’s gonna stop us?”

Anduin laughed disbelievingly. 

“The guards, the—“

Khadgar shushed him, placing a finger against his mouth.

“Anduin Lothar, you really must learn to live more dangerously.”

Anduin, at a loss, stared at him. Khadgar let out a laugh again, this one lower and more predatory, and it sent shivers down Anduin’s spine. Faced with the look Khadgar was giving him, he would have agreed to anything he could have asked of him.

They set off through the prison’s corridors, not giving a damn if they were seen and well aware there were cameras at every corner anyway. They weren’t stopped and soon, they were both sitting on Anduin’s bed, crossed-legged and facing each other.

They were giddy with excitement, an overwhelming sense of life filling them with each passing second that got them closer to the day they would both be out of here. They would have so much to talk about, so much they already thought but could not speak of until they were free and safe.

“Here’s how it’s going to go,” started Khadgar. “It will all have to happen on the same day. We’ll have to act quickly. At dinner time, you’ll receive a call. It will be Medivh. Speak normally, like you would any day. I’ll receive a call of my own, but the dean will call me to his office at the same time.”

“How?”

“Don’t ask questions. Just listen. I’ve infiltrated their systems already, it’s all ready to go. All we need is someone on the outside ready to jump whenever the alarm system goes off: that’s Medivh. When I get called down, count to 60 in your head and then you’ll thank Medivh for sending you a copy of _On The Road_. That’s the signal. At that point, I’ll have cracked the dean’s computer and will just be waiting to invite Medivh in. It will all get played at this moment: you hang up on Medivh as soon as he protests he never sent you the book, get me? Get back to your seat and wait.

“You have one role. It’ll only be minutes before the alarm goes off. The lights will go down and the guards will react immediately: they have protocols and they will follow them. Every inmate will be led to the mess while they try to solve the problem. Before this happens, I need you to do one thing: start a fight. Be quick and be crass. Escape as soon as the alarm starts: the doors will close immediately but the one closest to the kitchen will be open, trust me on this.”

Anduin nodded, listening intently to Khadgar’s soft whispers. It hit him how planned Khadgar was, how he had been as soon as he had entered the hold not so long ago. He almost lost track of Khadgar’s words as he gazed at him with growing wonder, Khadgar’s eyes shining.

“Go straight to the basement, past the sewing yard and past the double doors with ‘restricted access’ written on them. That’s the emergency exit. Follow the exit signs. Don’t wait for me. Medivh will be outside waiting. Get in his car and get out.”

Anduin held up his hand to stop him.

“Wait, wait, then what about you?”

“That’s my business.” Khadgar’s face was grave and his eyes bore into Anduin’s soul. “Anduin. Don’t ask questions.”

Anguish twisted in Anduin’s gut.

“But—“

“No.”

Khadgar held his gaze, begging him. Anduin did not understand, yet he knew at that moment he had to let the matter go.

“Alright,” he said, and he thought he saw a shadow pass over Khadgar’s eyes. It was gone as soon as he noticed it.

“Alright,” Khadgar repeated and dived back into his explanation. “Medivh will explain everything after that point to you. You will go to New York, see your sister and Llane, get a new passport and get the fuck out of Dodge. Everyone will be looking for you. You know what you have to do, I’m sure.”

Anduin frowned. “Disappear.”

They fell silent, both of them staring unfocused at the blanket, lost in their own thoughts.

Khadgar ached to speak, but he knew he had to keep his tongue. He had already had too much trouble getting him to agree to the plan as he was aware of it, Khadgar could not risk him going back on his decision once again. 

There was too much at stake. Khadgar would not tell him anything. 


	12. I, 12

##### PART TWELVE [USA, New York City – Lothar’s apartment]: november first.

Medivh’s cellphone showed 2AM. He turned on the bed, inhaling the disrupted dust and exhaling sharply, watching the small particles dance in the green light coming from the window. There were only the sounds of cars down the street and his own slow breathing. The sign outside flickered, plunging the room into momentary darkness before it illuminated the walls again.

It had been doing this increasingly lately. For years, it had glowed all night every night without fail and Medivh had hated it from the first. Yet now, as it seemed it would shut down for good anytime soon, Medivh found he would miss it when it did. It struck him as so odd, to think he would miss what he had hated with all his worth. But then again, he had done everything he could to get Lothar back.

He turned on the bed again, turning his back to the window. His eyes fell on the wall in front of him, covered from ground to ceiling with pictures upon pictures, smiles and faces and laughs forever imprinted on a feeble piece of paper. There were so many people on these walls, many Medivh had never even known or had no recollection of if he had, next to some more familiar faces, next to Taria’s, and Llane’s, and Medivh’s own. He hated these walls.

Just as he was about to turn again, his cell phone rang. He sprung up, snatched the phone and blinked at the screen, the sudden brightness rendering him blind. It was an unknown caller ID.

“Who the fuck—“

“ _Medivh? Can you hear me?_ ”

He started so hard, the phone dropped on the mattress with a slight bounce. In his confusion, Medivh had not realized he had picked up. He scrambled in panic to catch the phone again, bringing it hurriedly to his ear.

“Yes? Sorry, who the fuck are you?”

“ _It’s Khadgar, you dipshit._ ”

Medivh blinked at the wall at the same time the neon sign flickered. It struggled to light back on, leaving the room in a faint green glow for a few seconds.

“How the fuck—“

“ _If you say ‘fuck’ again, I’m hanging up on you._ ”

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Medivh jumped to his feet and started pacing the room, talking fast.

“Khadgar! How are you even calling me, what is happening, did something happen, why are you calling me, how is Lothar, what’s happened, talk to me, Khadgar, please—“

“ _Jesus, chill out, Medivh, I don’t have a lot of time. I’m calling through one of the computers. I can’t stay here long or they’ll find me._ ”

“You mean to tell me you’ve _cracked the prison’s computer to call me_?” Medivh’s voice squeaked.

Khadgar let out a low chuckle. “ _You say that like it surprises you. Anyway, I’m calling to say everything’s going according to plan. I got Lothar up to date and everything’s good to go. Are you OK?_ ”

Medivh stalled for a few seconds, processing. “Oh, well, great, that’s—I’m doing fine,” he lied.

“ _Good. Medivh, I just have to say… Tomorrow. Lothar, when he’ll, er… just be here, ok? And do as we’ve said?_ ”

“Yeah, of course,” he answered, confused.

“ _Thanks. Well. Good bye._ ”

The line was cut, and only static could be heard through the phone speaker. Medivh fell back onto the bed, dust flying around the room in a big whoosh. He watched as the small particles caught the green light and swirled about his head like an evil aura that surrounded him. In contrast, his phone illuminated the dust in pale blue. It looked strangely eerie in the dead hours of the night.

He had had no contact with Khadgar ever since he had infiltrated the Violet Hold. It had been the first time he had heard his voice since. As to avoid suspicion, they had decided he wouldn’t call him like he did Lothar. Not that he had made a habit of calling Lothar, contrary to Llane and Taria who often called. Medivh had more often been forced to participate into a group call than he had made the personal decision to contact the prison. It depressed him when he heard the prison’s secretary answering the phone and asking what he wanted. He never _wanted_ to speak to Lothar, always felt compelled to by something—the date, the weather, the color of the sky. He stopped counting how many times he had just hung up before saying anything.

Other times he had pushed on until he heard Lothar’s voice on the other end, gruff and low through the speaker, and it filled Medivh with such intense shame and anger entirely directed at himself that he could only bark out a few insults and be done with it. He knew, through Llane and Taria, that Lothar never held it against him, but he did not trust anything Lothar ever said to them. He was always so protective of the people that mattered. He gave his life for them. Medivh simply stood by.

But not anymore. No, Medivh would not stand by and watch this time. He stood up suddenly, the phone that had been lying on his chest falling loudly on the floor. He shuffled through the apartment, realizing faintly the green neon sign had finally died out when he couldn’t see where the door was. Suddenly, the wide empty space with shadows on the walls, no longer drowned in neon green, seemed so immensely scary that Medivh had only one desire: to get out of here.

He grabbed his coat and keys, opened the door and slammed it shut. He started down the stairs, stopped on the third step, climbed back up and locked the door. Then, he promptly jumped down the stairs two-by-two and soon he was out in the cold November air. He breathed in deeply despite the air freezing his lungs and looked up at the sky. The stars shone brightly behind the veil of clouds and he blinked, suddenly filled with an unknown but powerful feeling. 

He had a long road ahead.

He arrived in Dalaran county as the sun was rising, drowning the sky in reds and purples. He pulled up on the side of the road, taking two minutes to leave a message to Taria to tell her everything was to go according to plan starting right now. There was a low, trembling thing building up in his stomach, something he would have liked to call excitement, because he felt alive, but could only define as dread, because he was afraid. He was so afraid, of what would happen now, what would come of this, would they even come out of this alive? These questions swirled and twisted in his head all the rest of the way until he reached the city. 

He left his car, entered a café, ordered a whiskey. The bartender looked at him oddly, considering it was barely eight am, but served him nonetheless. Medivh did not even want to know what the man had seen in him that he would serve him whiskey so early. His face seemed to say “as long as you pay,” and Medivh left a twenty and left without waiting for the change.

The city was busy, it was a week day and people were walking everywhere, cars passing and honking down the streets, buses hurrying, and passersby yelling at random. Medivh walked through the crowds, taking in the raw energy of an unknown town, until he found the police station. From there, he resorted to all the techniques he had used so often they had become second nature to him. He stole a police truck and rode away. He knew exactly where the prison was, for having been to the exact place some months ago when he and Khadgar were still in the developmental stage of their break out plan. It had not been strictly necessary to go down to the scene, but he had felt it necessary, one night they were both at Lothar’s apartment and–Medivh realized it now–the neon sign had flickered for the very first time. 

Medivh had jumped to his feet, grabbed his coat and keys, and left without saying a word to Khadgar. The kid had followed, climbed in the car and slept all the way through, never asking any questions and waking up to the tall prison walls. He had not said anything all day, and when they had finally come back to New York, Medivh had not seen him for the next three days. When he came back, he had the floor plans for the Violet Hold along with the rest of the USA’s biggest prison compounds and administrative buildings. Three days, and in the evening Khadgar was arrested, never to be heard from again. 

Medivh thought of what he would say to the kid when he saw him again. His heart started beating faster just at the thought of it, that all they had been working for these past year was finally coming to terms. A smile stretched his lips, and joy bubbled up his throat, a crazy laugh which begged to be freed until he was simply laughing, passing honking cars but nothing stopped him. He had half a mind he was only bringing attention to himself but could not care. He sped up, feeling the simple rush of speed fill his bones and make his heart tremble. 

He drove for a long while until he was alone on a country road. He slowed down and turned the car around, starting the way back at a more reasonable pace. His hands were jittery and his lips hurt from having been stretched into screams for an hour. The sun was beginning its slow descent, blinding him as he drove right into it. He could feel himself getting closer to the compound with each mile, and he thought of seeing Lothar’s face again.

He wondered if he had changed, if his hair had grown or if, on the contrary, he had decided to shave it all. He would regret Lothar’s long hair if he had, he thought, remembering sliding his fingers through Lothar’s mane, pulling on the soft strands. He wondered if he had gotten any new scars in his time, prison brawls being notoriously violent in the Hold, new scars added to the numerous ones Medivh knew of, had traced on his skin, new scars that Medivh will, perhaps, never get to see.

It was not long before he had to pull up on the side of the road, tears streaming down his face and blinding him. He laid his arms on the wheel and wept, letting go for the first time in many months. Oh, he had drunk, and screamed, and let the sadness wash over him for hours on end, lying on his back on Lothar’s bed, but so rarely had he let himself cry. The tears came and went like a tide, taking hold of him for long minutes and leaving him rattled out and exhausted. He had not slept in three days and suddenly he felt, deep in his bones, how tired he was. Anytime he had dozed off, he had woken up in a cold sweat, a shout hanging from his lips as he dreamt, over and over, of Lothar’s limp body and Khadgar’s screams, of gunshots and banging on the door, green light illuminating everything.

He took a few breaths, the sobs having stopped, his tears dry on his cheeks. He stayed as he was, prostrate on the wheel, until he was sure he could look up without bursting into tears again. His head hurt, because of the exhaustion, the whiskey he had had earlier today, and the tears that had left his eyes dry and hurting. He realized, suddenly and sharply, that he had not eaten anything in three days either. Hunger took hold of him suddenly, waking him from the confused state he had been in since Khadgar had called him that night.

Hearing his voice had been a violent reminder that everything he had been working for these last few months was about to shift from being merely a dream to becoming reality. He realized he had not let himself seriously think of today as anything more than a fevered delusion, something to keep him up at night, even as his realistic side kept telling him he would never see Lothar again, or hear from Khadgar, or ever see the prison walls again. Now, in this stolen police car he was in, just a few minutes away from the compound, and Khadgar’s quiet voice in the dark still painfully clear in his ears, he realized he was absolutely not ready for this to happen.

He did not know how he would react to seeing Lothar but, in a way, that didn’t matter. The last time they had seen each other was at the trial, the last words they said that weren’t on the phone were so bitter, so full of unsaid and regrets and they had crushed Medivh’s heart. _You did the right thing._ No, Medivh now knew, he had not. He had given Lothar up without a complaint, handed him to the justice, to the police, to the state, everything he had dedicated his life to hate and actively go against. And instead of defending his friend, his partner against what were, despite everything, false accusations, he had testified against him. And for the sake of what? For the sake of the family. For his own sake, because Light knows what would have happened if he had decided to not follow orders and defended Lothar.

And they both knew that. Lothar, because he was altruistic and had a legendary sense of self-sacrifice and loyalty, would never have forgiven him if Medivh had so much as tried to prove his innocence, thus bringing even more attention to Stormwind and the mafia as a whole. But he had not, and for this Lothar had been proud, had been grateful, and Medivh had felt so wrong even as he kept repeating to himself, late at night, before he even gave in to his alcoholism or turned the key to Lothar’s apartment for the first time since the arrest, _you did the right thing, you did the right thing._

No, Medivh had not done the right thing, and he knew this as well as Lothar did. But he did not fear how he would react to Lothar, setting him free after having been the one to get him arrested… He dreaded what Lothar would think of him.  
 


	13. I, 13

##### PART THIRTEEN [USA, Dalaran County Prison – cell n°51]: going’ down.

Lothar lied wide awake on his cot. The exist sign in the hallway flickered randomly, sometimes falling into a rhythm before breaking it again, keeping Lothar from focusing on his thoughts. He was going crazy.

His cell felt too small and too big at the same time, pulsating through his pained mind, expanding and collapsing on itself like a failing heart. Lothar wanted nothing more than to run away and stay here forever at the same time. He had always found comfort in his own cell, the only place that was truly ever his in this hole. He had never had to share quarters with anyone, which he considered a blessing. In the two year and a half he had now spent here, he had not changed cell even once. He had been led here on his very first day, and had been told to get comfy, because this would be his home from now on, and for the rest of his life. Lothar, at that time, had believed that, and so he had gotten “comfy,” as that guard had said back then, a small smirk dancing on his lips. Lothar had wanted to punch him.

The walls were of a sickly green with stripes of white running from floor to ceiling at irregular intervals. In the first few weeks, Lothar dreamed of the walls of his apartment back in New York, covered as they were with pictures taken over the years. The ones most visible from the bed had been of his closest friends, and from there it spread over the walls, people he only saw sometimes, some he had only met once and never again. The pictures who were the farthest away from him, the ones he could not see when laying on his side on the bed, were of people he would never see again, people who had left never to return. Lothar remembered vividly the first day he had brought Medivh home, the look of utter awe and terror that had transfigured his face as soon as they had crossed the threshold. Lothar had waited expectantly for him to say anything, and he had felt the words twisting sharp in his chest.

“I hate this. Why don’t you take all the pictures down?”

It had been many months and fights later, after Medivh had left his apartment for the very last time, eyes shrouded and bitter smile, that Lothar realized one of the first pictures you saw upon entering was of a dark-skinned woman, smiling brightly for the camera, her arms tight around someone’s chest whose face was hidden. Next to it, like a movie, unraveled every picture Lothar had ever dared take of her, of her insane beauty that only barely transpired through the camera, a beauty her boyfriend had been so protective of that Lothar had had to pretend to delete the photos more often than not. The woman, and, along with her, her smile and haunting beauty, had disappeared years ago, under unknown circumstances. The cops had investigated, but no lead had ever amounted to anything and none had been dismissed.

They had all been so young, and so broken by her disappearance. Lothar had found solace in the pictures he had taken of her, remembered spending nights upon nights browsing through them on his computer’s illuminated screen. He also remembered being called at ungodly hours of the morning, asked to come down to the station to pick up a drunk Medivh, who had gone and picked fights again. It had gone on for months, and incidentally, Lothar thought now that those months he had spent going to the station and then from there to Medivh’s apartment, leaving him on the couch while he brewed tea for both of them and then they sat, in silence, or Lothar listening to Medivh’s drunken blabbering, receiving his tears like gifts, these months had done a lot in developing their relationship. Medivh, with his help, had finally been able to grieve and move on. 

Lothar had not thought, when bringing Medivh to his apartment that first night, because it had been _years_ and Lothar never looked at this side of the wall, the side where all these people he missed were portrayed, alive and well, happy, smiling, the only thing he had left of them often being this picture that hung on his wall. Medivh’s girlfriend’s disappearance, while having been what brought him and Lothar closer, had ultimately been their downfall. She would always be a shadow hanging over the both of them, never quite remembered but never forgotten either.

Lothar, upon arriving in the Violet Hold, had had half a mind to recreate his picture-covered walls in his cell, but had soon dropped the idea. Instead, he had only ever hung the two photos Taria had sent him, once, in a letter. They featured those he thought he had thought he had lost forever, those he had known he would miss the most, when he had entered his whole new life as a lifer. Lothar had gazed at them every night before lights out, committing to memory these faces and these smiles.

Lothar jumped to his feet, finding his way thanks to the flickering light. He knew he had to be careful not to tip off anyone of what was brewing, but he also knew he could not leave this place, never to return, and leave everything behind. He peeled off the pictures from where he had stuck them on the wall, observing them under the green light. He knew every detail of them by hand, but now he tried to imagine what they all would look like now, more than two years since he saw them last, and even longer since their photos were taken. Lothar himself had changed a lot: his hair had grown and he had decided to grow a beard. His nose had been broken and half healed, crooked, and he was sure new wrinkles had appeared around his eyes and mouth. He wondered what they would say, when they saw him again. 

He browsed his shelf, stroking the spines of his book, saying goodbye. He couldn’t take them all out, didn’t even want to. They belonged to the prison, to this cell that they had helped him escape of more than once. They were a testimony of the time he had spent here, the time he thought he would have to spend still, and they deserved to stay here, like this life he was now leaving. Lothar knew exactly which book he was looking for, yet he made a point of looking at every single book he had owned. He remembered when he had read them, what had happened, what he had felt and thought upon reading them. He wondered what it would feel like if he ever read them again out of prison. He wondered if he would be able to.

Finally, he grabbed his age worn copy of _Of Mice and Men_ , handling it with care. He slipped the photos inside, before slipping the book inside his jacket. He would not leave without them.

All day long, he felt the weight of the book against his chest, like an anchor which reminded him that each hour that passed was bringing him closer to tonight. Tonight, and it seemed so surreal that Lothar was not even nervous. He had expected to feel jittery and anxious all day, clammy hands and jumpy legs, but instead he was calm, focused on his sewing job, giving off his usual threatening aura which kept all the convicts ten feet away from him. He managed to not look anything out of the ordinary and did not attract any further attention than usual.

Dinner arrived, however, way faster than he expected. He saw Khadgar sitting at a table, but the kid did not pay him any attention, so Lothar went to sit alone. It was not long before a guard called him, telling him someone was on the phone for him. He had not eaten a thing.

Lothar accepted the receiver without a word, leaning his forehead against the wall, his blood beating loudly in his ears.

“ _Hey._ ”

“Medivh,” Lothar greeted him, surprised to hear his voice despite expecting it because of how soft and broken it sounded. “Hey.”

“ _How have you been, old friend?_ ”

There was a smile somewhere in Medivh’s voice. It made Lothar’s stomach churn.

“Fine. Haven’t heard from you in months.”

Lothar recognized the anger rising in him immediately, and suddenly all that he wanted to do was hang up, go back to his seat, and leave both Medivh and Khadgar hanging. He wanted to call everything off, just because he could not stand to hear Medivh’s voice again.

“ _I know,_ ” Medivh said. “ _I’m… sorry._ ”

There was silence. Lothar heard a sharp intake of breath, like Medivh was getting ready to talk, when he jumped at the sound of a guard hollering in the mess hall, the sound reaching the small telephone room.

“Khadgar Trust! The dean want t’see you!”

A tremor took hold of Lothar’s whole body at the words. Medivh seemed to feel it across the phone line.

“ _Are you alright?_ ” he asked, concern clear in his voice.

“Yes,” Lothar said immediately. He was already 10 seconds into his countdown.

“ _Listen, Lothar,_ ” 15 seconds, “ _I know I haven’t been, how can I say, the best of friends these past two years,_ ” 20 seconds, “ _but I really wanted to apologize for that._ ”

“Why would you apologize?” Lothar interjected.

“ _Because I was a dick. I refused to call you, Taria and Llane always had to force me to talk to you the few times I did, and that… Well you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry, Lothar._ ”

Lothar gaped dumbfounded, having forgotten his countdown momentarily. Medivh’s words slowly came to make sense in his mind, and he wondered how Medivh could feel guilty for something Lothar would never have thought to hold against him. But, thinking back on it, he should have expected Medivh to take this so much at heart.

“Medivh, I. I don’t blame you. I understand you, I didn’t, I mean,” Lothar babbled on, losing track of his thoughts. Then suddenly, like a shock running through him, he spluttered: “Thanks for sending me _On the Road_ , I received it this morning.”

There was a moment of surprised silence on the other side of the line, until Medivh answered.

“I never sent you—“

Lothar hung up before he could hear the end of the sentence. He went back to his seat, feeling disconnected from reality. The game was on. Lothar sat, picked at his food and looked around. He knew what he had to do now, but he had not thought with precision of how he would go about it.

The answer presented itself to him in the familiar face of Moragg. As soon as he was through the door and in the mess hall, Lothar stood up suddenly, letting his chair fall loudly behind him. Everyone was looking at him now.

“Moragg!” he bellowed.

The tall man froze, his intimidating stature reduced to a trembling mess as he turned fearful eyes onto Lothar.

Lothar did not hesitate an instant. 

“Thought I was gonna let you go so easily?”

The guards were starting to whisper and bringing a hand to the baton they wore at all times. They usually waited to see if the shouts would turn into a full-on fight before intervening, though. That was exactly what Lothar was aiming forward. 

“You ran away yesterday but you’re not gonna bail on me now, are ya? A man has to answer for his words, Moragg, surely you didn’t think I would just let you insult everyone in this room and not do anything?”

There was a moment of confusion as Lothar’s words made their way into the minds of the convicts. There were a few who were already rising to the bait, while Moragg looked more and more scared and ready to run away any moment.

“Yeah!” Lothar continued. “I heard you yesterday when you said Erekem had a small dick!”

There was a holler, and a tall, Russian man stood up, getting rid of his shirt in the same motion, letting his thick muscular arms show. Lothar glanced at him, wondering if this would suffice or if he should keep talking.

“What do you have to say to that, Moragg?” he taunted the poor man, who was now petrified in the middle of the mess hall, all eyes trained on him. “And to Cyanigosa? That time I heard you say his skin was dirty?”

The Black man jumped to his feet with an affronted “What?” and Moragg looked, at this point, like he’d rather the floor swallow him up. But suddenly, a strike of courage took hold of him, and he yelled:

“Wha—What? You’re not gonna listen to this, this, this fairy are you?”

That did it. At least thirty of the men stood at that, taking personal offence of the insults Lothar had had Moragg say and the one he had just pronounced in front of them. The whole mess hall erupted, everyone fighting everyone in a matter of seconds, and for reasons not particularly clear to anyone. Most, Lothar suspected, simply jumped on the opportunity for a good fight.

Exactly as he had hoped, no one paid any attention to him now, and he rushed to the exit door right as the alarm started, startling everyone in the mess hall. Lothar was out of the door before anyone could notice, the double doors falling shut behind him. The lights went out and he was running down the corridor in the dark, only able to find his way by the light of the green exit signs on top of each door. He found the stairs down to the basement, walking through empty corridors until he was past the sewing room and he found himself in front of the “restricted access” door, just as Khadgar had told him. He went to push them but found them closed.

A low wail escaped his throat as he desperately tried to force the doors open. He gave a start when he heard voices in the hall behind him. A ray of bright yellow light swept the corridor as the guards used their lamplight to see in the darkened hallway. Everything was greenly lit from where Lothar stood, the walls, the doors, even the faces of the guards he could vaguely see from afar. He had nowhere to hide, and he knew if they found him here when everyone was supposed to be at the mess hall, they wouldn’t hesitate as to why he had been down here. They would know he was trying to escape, and then what would happen of him? What about Khadgar? 

Panic morphed into terror as he could hear the guards coming closer and the doors stayed stubbornly shut. It didn’t make sense why an emergency exit would stay close, but he knew the whole compound had been put on shut down as soon as an intruder had been identified in the systems. He punched the door with his fist, crying out when he felt a sharp pain run up his arm. He cradled his hurt hand against his chest, feeling his eyes water.

The yellow light from the lamp swept the corridor again and there was no chance the guards did not see him. He saw them getting closer and closer to him, hollering and shouting but he couldn’t make sense of what they were saying. Blood rushed in his ears, drowning any other sound. Even the alarm couldn’t get its way into his head, blasting as it was. Lothar was suddenly blinded by a lamplight and he heard one word before a distinctive click resonated like thunder behind him.

“Freeze!”  
 


	14. I, 14

##### PART FOURTEEN [USA, Dalaran County Prison – basement]: run.

“Freeze!”

The click registered in his mind. Lothar pushed at the doors. They opened immediately and without any resistance. He stumbled through them, hearing them slam shut and lock themselves as if they had a mind of their own right as a gunshot resonated through the suddenly silent corridor.

Lothar ran.

The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, the only indication that he was moving the many glowing green signs he ran past, placed at regular intervals and forming a rhythm with Lothar’s steps. He had no idea of how long he had been running, until he pushed at yet another door, which swung open almost without him having to touch it, and he was suddenly blinded by the light outside, the setting sun drowning the sky in soft tones of red. He fell short as he acknowledged the light breeze blowing on his face and the sounds of the outdoor replacing the surreal silence that had reigned in the corridor he had just sprinted through. Faintly, he could hear the alarms from the compound in the distance.

Lothar heard a car honk twice, and was met with the headlights of a police truck. Fear bubbled in him at the sight and he was ready to run right back into the prison, but he stilled when he heard his name.

“Lothar!” Medivh called out. “Get in here!”

The car door opened and Lothar climbed in automatically. In his panicked mind, Medivh registered as safe, and he closed the door with a sigh of relief. He turned towards Medivh, a million questions on his lips. He didn’t get to ask any.

“Fuck!” exclaimed Medivh. His eyes were stuck on the road ahead, and Lothar turned to see what had provoked such an outburst from him.

The road was blocked by three police cars, their sirens casting red and blue light around. Medivh pressed a pedal, the truck lurching backwards violently. Lothar was thrown off, hitting his head on the roof. He cried out in pain as Medivh maneuvered them around, turning away from the police barrage. He sped up, surveying the rearview mirror as the cops jumped into their cars and started chasing them. He sent one look at Lothar, noticing his wince.

“Are you hurt?”

“Yeah,” Lothar groaned.

Medivh swung the car in a turn, charging at full speed towards a gate. There were police cars stationed at the gate but he did not falter. 

“Did one of them get you?” he shouted at Lothar.

“Nah, I,” Lothar tried saying, but the car lurched again, and he had to hurriedly tie his seatbelt to prevent himself from being thrown off.

Before he could answer, Medivh had plowed through the gate, the shock making them grate their teeth as the truck was almost thrown off tracks. Medivh grabbed at the wheel, maintaining the car in its direction as the police cars wailed behind them. Lothar twisted in his seat to watch them.

“Medivh. Medivh, you have to turn the car around.”

“What?” he shouted. 

“Turn the fucking car around!” Lothar slammed his hand on the dashboard, crying out as it revived the pain.

“What the fuck, Lothar! Why would I do that?” Medivh was looking frantically between him, the rearview mirror, and the road stretching ahead.

“Khadgar’s still in there!”

The yell that Medivh let escape was animalistic, shocking Lothar into stillness.

“I’m not turning the fucking car around. We’re not going back in there. That’s the plan, Lothar, don’t you get it? Khadgar was never supposed to get out with you!”

The words spun and spun in Lothar’s mind, twisting and turning until they weren’t words but screams instead. What came out of his mouth was little more than a whisper, though, as if the shock had stolen his voice along with his breath.

“What do you mean?”

Medivh groaned. “Look, we’re in goddamn truck getting chased down by five police cars who are slowly but surely getting closer with every mile cause, guess what? A car is faster than a fucking truck! Which means we have no chance in hell to escape them except if I find some way to get us the fuck out of here and out of their sight, get me?”

Lothar nodded numbly.

“Great. So can I just drive now?”

Medivh’s voice was sharp and it barely cut through Lothar’s slowly shutting down brain. He felt like he was sinking into a pool of jelly, and soon he would not be able to hear or see anything. The car started on a pothole. Lothar hit his head and passed out.

When he came too, it was impossibly dark outside. He was leaning against the window, and they were driving rapidly but not too much so. Lothar stayed unmoving, eyes trying to decipher anything outside but there were no light, no movement except for the headlights. They illuminated a simple country road ahead. There was no sound.

It suddenly struck Lothar that he was in a car.

He straightened up, hitting his head once again against the low roof. There was a chuckle to his left, and he turned a deadly glare on Medivh, who smiled.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.”

“What happened?” Lothar slurred.

“I drove until I reached Dalaran, at which point the police was almost tailing me,” Medivh told him, “though they looked like they didn’t want to shoot. We got into some nice race through the streets where I lost three of them. The other two didn’t look like they wanted to leave me alone, though, so I did a few tricks and got one of them to run straight into a wall. The other one found itself stuck behind him. I knew there were other police scanning the place, so I entered the first underground parking lot and stole a car.”

“Police are stupid,” Lothar said.

Medivh chuckled. “Yeah, they are. I’m also a great driver.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Medivh laid kind eyes on him and Lothar smiled at him. Lothar’s eyes suddenly widened and Medivh looked worried.

“What’s going on?”

“We’ve left Khadgar behind,” he whispered.

“Lothar,” Medivh sighed.

“No, don’t even try me, Medivh. We’ve left him behind. What the fuck?”

Lothar was understandably upset, yet Medivh was getting more and more annoyed with him.

“Listen. That was the plan. That kid knows what he’s doing. You don’t got to worry about anything, he’ll be fine.”

Medivh glanced at Lothar while speaking, observing his pinched features and lost eyes. He looked like a puppy who had his favorite stuffed animal taken away. Medivh did not ponder on that comparison, instead reaching out to Lothar.

“He’ll be fine,” he repeated, wanting to lay his hand on Lothar’s thigh, but he slapped his hand away.

“How do you know that?” Lothar howled. “You can’t know if he’s alright if you’re not with him!”

“For Light’s sake, Lothar, pull yourself together!”

Silence fell in the car, the only sound that of the engine as the car sped up the small road. They drove for long minutes, neither of them speaking, staring out their respective windows. It was cold in the small car, and Lothar was only dressed in his prison uniform. He started to shiver slightly, huddled on the seat. Eventually, Medivh spoke up.

“Why do you even care so much what happens to this kid?”

Lothar scoffed. “What, like you don’t?”

“Of course I do, dammit!” He scowled, and Lothar thought he would not speak again. “Of course I do, but I know him.”

Lothar stared at him, confused.

“You’ve only known him four months, Lothar.”

It seemed Medivh was genuinely surprised by the care and attention he held for Khadgar. Lothar bit his lips, remembering the soft touch of Khadgar’s mouth on his, how he had sighed softly after they had kissed, and his big brown eyes, how he could have drowned in them.

“Four months,” Lothar whispered.

He gazed out of the window, at the expanse of road illuminated by the headlights, running rapidly by. He remembered Khadgar’s face when they had talked a few nights ago and finalized the break out. _Don’t ask questions_ , he had told him, and Lothar had obeyed, yet now he felt guilty. He felt, inside him, that the truth was not that Khadgar had another plan to break out himself, but rather that he had sacrificed himself for him. Lothar was free, yes, but at what cost?

“Lothar,” Medivh called him. “Are you alright?”

Lothar turned towards him, confused as to why he would ask him this. Medivh held a sad look in his eyes, and Lothar realized suddenly tears had been streaming silently down his face. He wiped at them with his hand, wincing.

Medivh cleared his throat before speaking. “You’ve hurt your hand.”

“Yes.”

“Is it broken?”

“I don’t know.”

Lothar prodded at his fingers, testing every bone to figure out if he had indeed broken anything by punching the door. Eventually, he assessed it was only a strain.

“What did he tell you?” Lothar asked.

Medivh stayed silent for so long, Lothar started to think he would refuse to answer him, or maybe he had not even heard the question. He was about to repeat it when Medivh sighed.

“He told me to come and get you, to not worry because he would find us a few days afterwards, he has it all under control.”

“And you just believed that?” Lothar asked, eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline.

“Of course not! Dammit,” Medivh hit the wheel with his fist, glaring out the window with eyes ablaze. “Jesus Christ, Lothar, two years in the hole did you no good.”

“Fuck you,” Lothar said, but it sounded weak.

Medivh slid him an apologetic look, chewing at his lips.

“Of course I did not just believe that,” he repeated. “But what did you want me to do? I looked it up, I talked to everyone trying to figure out what Khadgar wouldn’t tell me. In the end, I had no choice but to trust him. _We_ have no choice but to trust him, now.”

Lothar kept scowling, staring straight forward out the windshield. Medivh sighed softly.

“You love him,” he said.

Lothar started, glancing at him guiltily, before going back to scowling.

“What the fuck, seriously,” he tried to retort.

“Don’t play that game with me, Lothar. I know you too well.”

He hesitated in telling Lothar how he recognized the expression he wore when speaking of Khadgar like the one he had so often seen directed at him in their shared past. He was glad, however, that he felt little to no jealousy at figuring out Lothar’s feelings for the kid. All he felt was protective towards Khadgar, which he had himself come to appreciate like the son he will never have. He could not deny he feared for them both.

“It’s alright, Lothar,” he decided on saying. “I won’t say anything. But you have to trust me. Khadgar will find a way out.”

A sob ripped at the silence between them, filling the space with its raw pain. When Medivh reached out to him, Lothar did not slap his hand away. Instead, he grabbed at his fingers, pressing them tightly onto his thigh as the sobs shook through him.  
 


	15. I, 15

##### PART FIFTEEN [USA, Dalaran county – stolen car]: it’s up to fate.

Even as much as Medivh wanted to believe in what he had told Lothar, he felt anxiety settle in his stomach. He had tried to understand what Khadgar had planned beyond getting Lothar out. He had been so suspiciously vague about his own escape that Medivh would have had to have wanted not to understand that something was wrong. Everyone he had talked to had been elusive, not wanting to answer his questions.

In the end, Medivh had decided to confront Khadgar about it. Khadgar, for all that he had looked innocent and naïve when they had just met, had gradually shown that he was much more devious and resourceful than one would expect a college student having to work to pay for his studies. He fit right in with the mobsters and the criminals that were Medivh’s acquaintances. But when Medivh had gone to talk to him, he had seen some of that innocence shining bright in Khadgar, and it had been a sharp reminder that Medivh was, at least in part, responsible for his present involvement with the mafia. 

Khadgar did not have a plan. Or rather, no plan he could trust in absolutely for him to get out of the prison safely. Medivh had thrashed and screamed at him for hours on end, and then they had sat down, both of them exhausted and choking back tears, to try and figure out how they were going to make things work. That’s when Khadgar had finally come clean.

He did not care much if he did not come out of this alive. The most important was for the first part of the plan to pull through: save Lothar, and Khadgar considered himself as good as saved himself. To Medivh, such an attitude was so peculiar and nonsensical, he had stared at Khadgar with bulging eyes and mouth gaping. Khadgar had looked so sad.

“I won’t try and lie, saying I’m doing all this for Lothar without any thought to myself,” Khadgar had told him, “because I’m not. I wish this was a completely selfless and uninterested act but the fact is, it is not. I’m saving someone, not an innocent man but someone who’s at least been locked up for unfair reasons. I used to know… I knew someone who lived the same.” Khadgar had taken a large intake of breath, gazed out the window, before turning back towards Medivh. “I guess this is me making amends.”

Medivh had done his research afterwards. It had turned out Trust was not Khadgar’s given last name. It was his adoptive parents’ name, one that he had fully adopted once he had turned eighteen. His previous name was one Khadgar had apparently done everything he could to forget and erase from his life. The reason for this had become clear with a simple web search.

Medivh had heard of Sergei Rastov. Renowned criminal, disappeared after his last heist, found again years later, married, with one child. The story had made front page for a week, Sergei Rastov’s mug shot staring down at the customers from every news stand in the country. The fact he had been one of the United States most active criminal six years prior, before totally disappearing, leaving the entirety of the country wondering what had become of him, had done a lot in getting the coverage. There had been online groups dedicated to talk about the numerous theories which surrounded the man, ranging from his death to being abducted by aliens.

But what had really made the story, was how they found him. The man had settled with his wife and toddler, in all appearances having retired from the criminal business, perhaps for the sake of his family. He had completely disappeared until the local police received a call from a child telling them there had been a murder and to come as quickly as possible because the murderer was still here. When they arrived on the scene, Khadgar’s mother had already bled out, all money was gone from the house, and the father had left with the child.

Medivh had followed the story with raptured attention. He had been twelve at the time, alone in an apartment more often than not as his mother underwent whatever job for the mob, stopping to read every single newspaper, buying those which held the most important info, having the TV on at all times, ready to jump and up the sound whenever the news were on. He had cut out and pasted every article on his wall, recreating how everything had went right there, in his room.

He remembered Sergei faintly, an imposing presence that had sat on the couch of the apartment he and his mother had lived in for a few years. He remembered being around four years old, and coming home from where he had been playing outside, to find him there, a beer bottle in one hand and watching the TV. He never got up, except when he decided to leave, but he would always look at Medivh, size him up, smile and say “Hello, Med,” in that thick Russian accent of his. Then, Aegwynn would suddenly appear and order him to go to his room, and Medivh would obey, heart racing and feeling like a god, all the while thinking _He talked to me!_

He did remember when he stopped coming, and him asking questions about him, where was he, why didn’t he come anymore. His mother would never answer him, instead giving him something new to do, clean your room, go wash up, have some juice, anything to get him to stop. Now, Medivh knew it was around that time Aegwynn truly stopped acting like a mother to him, instead leaving him alone for days to wonder where she had gone, coming back in the middle of the night and asking how he had been but not waiting around to hear the answer. When the news of Sergei having been found reached them, he had wondered, twelve years old and Aegwynn had not been home in over a month, whether she had looked for him back then.

Four-year old Medivh had kind of hoped Sergei would stay forever. His presence, as unexpected and rare it was, had been one of the few he had actually appreciated. There were others, men mostly, but he remembered some women too, looking down at him with something akin to pity and he hated them, hated all of them for how they would come in, act as if he wasn’t there or, if they didn’t, he wished they had, and then his mother would always, no matter what she was doing at the time, stop and give them all her attention. Then, they would disappear in her room, away from him, away from his gaze and his ears. He had always known, distantly, that Aegwynn had never loved him.

But he still thought, sometimes, that perhaps she had loved Sergei. He had recognized him instantly, seeing his face in the newspaper, and then every time he turned on the TV and there was new information. Three days he was on the run, until the police received yet another call, the boy having escaped his father’s careful watch, run to a phone booth and shakily dialed 911. According to the boy’s testimony, his father was a violent man who regularly beat his wife and had finally gone a step too far, stabbing her multiple times in the chest. The story fit the murder scene, and his father was condemned. He had been taken in by a quiet couple who agreed to the monthly prison visit the court had granted to his father, but he himself refused to go. By all accounts, he never saw his father again. Sergei Rastov died in prison a decade later.

The boy’s name had been Khadgar. Medivh had been astounded to hear about all of this. He had known Khadgar was adopted, had gathered as much from the many nights they had spent talking, but never could he have suspected he had such a tie to the criminal world. It had seemed to him that his parents had died when he was very young and he could not remember them. But he had been four years old at the time of his mother’s murder. There was no way he did not remember it.

And in a way, Medivh already knew Khadgar remembered it. His words haunted Medivh more than the fact he had asked the son of a criminal sentenced for life to help another escape. _Not an innocent man, but locked up for unfair reasons… I’m making amends._ Medivh dwelled on it for a long time, before he finally decided to steal the closed case file for Khadgar’s mother’s murder. 

In it were numerous testimonies from neighbors, friends, teachers who remembered this family as one who seemed a symbol of love and unity, the parents a perfect example of a balanced couple who, while they disagreed at times, discussed their issues calmly and with utmost respect for one another. Many remembered them as being very loving and respectful of the other. While many had had doubts about the husband, saying he certainly had the looks of a criminal, and as such they did not doubt for a second that he could have been one, they all came forward to assess that he never could have been violent towards his wife.

Medivh knew not to trust appearances, but it still seemed curious how every person who knew them would be so sure of this, while their own son had testified he had beaten her almost every night. Surely, some friends would have known. She would have told someone, or someone would have noticed the bruising. But there was no one, apart from Khadgar, who said anything about domestic violence.

It had taken a bit of digging, but eventually Medivh found himself staring at Bela Rastov’s records. She had arrived from England to the United States at sixteen years old, seemingly an orphan, and had struggled in extreme poverty until social services caught up to her. She ended up being taken in by a guardian whose influence seemed to have been beneficial: she went to college, obtained a PhD in chemistry and went on to teach at university. She met Sergei when she was twenty-six and they married and had their first child the same year. Her juvenile record had been scraped clean when she had turned eighteen but Medivh was able to recover it. She had a set of minor offences which explained the intervention of social services but Medivh could not help but notice they all started when she arrived in the US. There were no records of her before that time.

At a loss, Medivh had confronted Khadgar with what he had uncovered.

Khadgar had not appreciated Medivh looking into him and his past, nor coming to talk of it with him afterward. After the initial anger and betrayal, and they both had calmed down, they had managed to talk. The conversation had been a difficult one. Khadgar was on the defensive, wary of what Medivh might want to know more than what he already knew. But Medivh could not care less about Khadgar’s past. All he cared about was his future.

“What if you die out there?” he had ended up asking him. 

“Then I’ll die.”

This answer had enraged Medivh.

“You won’t have me believe you don’t give a single shit about your own life. It’s all you have. How can you just lose it for a total stranger?” 

“We’ve talked about this before, Medivh!”

“Making amends, is that it? Bullshit to that! You don’t have to amend to anything! How the fuck did Lothar become your way of forgiving yourself for what happened to your father? That’s fucked up and you know it.”

“Yes, I do, so you don’t have to tell me about it!” Khadgar answered. “Listen, I thought you wanted me to save Lothar? You said it yourself, to me, he’s a total stranger. But you need me for this, right? How does convincing me to drop it help you?”

“Not everything I do has to be about me. I care about you, Khadgar, like my own son and I don’t want to have to trade you for Lothar, or the reverse! But I won’t forgive myself for your death. Do you understand?”

Khadgar had been silent for so long Medivh thought he would never answer.

“Like your own son, hu?” he had muttered. “Now look who’s projecting.”

It had been a low blow, but it had been obvious Medivh’s admittance had meant a lot to him. Medivh did not doubt Khadgar saw a lot of his late father in him, the mobster and professional thief.

“You’re right, you know. This has to do with my father… But since I’ve started working with you, working on this case and learning about Lothar? I know I have to do this. I have to, for you, for Taria, for him. But I also need it for me, Med. Yeah, I do realize it’s absurd to think this will somehow help me accept what happened to my father… But I think it will, in some ways at least.”

“Saving a criminal where your father couldn’t be saved?” Medivh asked, sadness clear in his voice.

“Yeah,” Khadgar had responded. 

And suddenly it had hit him. Khadgar blamed himself, not for never going to see his father in prison before he had died, but because he had been the one to put him in prison in the first place. _Not an innocent man, but locked up for unfair reasons…_

“He didn’t kill her, did he?”

Khadgar had stayed silent, staring at him with barely controlled rage.

“Khadgar… What happened that day?”

He saw it happen without being able to do anything, Khadgar crumbling down in front of him. The sobs tearing themselves from his chest, Khadgar cried and cried, Medivh uselessly holding on to his shoulders, at a loss what to say, what to do, until he had put his hand on Khadgar’s nape and brought his head to rest against his chest, awkward and protective. That had seemed to do the trick, and eventually Khadgar had started breathing deeply again, until he spoke up, voice muffled against Medivh’s shoulder.

“He was violent, you know. Not at first but… I don’t know, maybe at one point it got too hard for him and he became an alcoholic. When he had drunk… too much, he would. Hit her. He’d hit me, too, and I was so scared and sick of it. But when… That day. They fought. She had, I don’t quite remember, but she had done something and he didn’t like it, and she didn’t like that he didn’t like it. So they fought, and she, she pulled out a gun. She fired. I was… so scared.”

Khadgar paused, taking a few slow breaths. Medivh had started flattening his hair at the base of his neck, a gesture he wanted reassuring.

“She missed, of course. But I still remember my father’s face. He looked terrified. I guess he didn’t know she had bought a gun, but I knew that because I had been with her when she did. She specifically said, _so that I have something to protect you with if he ever rises his hand on you again, Khad_. I didn’t know she would...”

A single sob shook Khadgar’s shoulder. Medivh tightened his embrace, his lip quivering despite himself.

“And then he, he tried to get her to calm down, not to shoot again but she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t stop screaming, and she screamed and screamed and we thought she would alert the neighbors or something. So my father, he screamed at me to get out, get out of the house, and I did, and then there was a gunshot. My father came out of the house minutes afterwards, a huge bag on his back. He told me to get in the car, and he had this look in his eyes. And he told me, if the police find us, here’s what happened: your mother and I got into an argument, and we fought and when she pulled out the gun, I overpowered her, took the gun away. But when your mama grabbed a knife, I didn’t have any other choice. Do you hear me, son? I didn’t have a choice.”

Silence, and then Khadgar spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“He kissed me on the forehead. And we left.”

They had stayed for Light knows how long, Medivh’s arms around Khadgar, both of them not saying anything because, what was there to say? When eventually, Medivh had let Khadgar go, they did not speak of it. Instead, Medivh had grabbed Khadgar’s shoulders, looked him right in the eyes, and said:

“Alright.”

It was a single word, but Khadgar seemed to get it, judging by the incredibly soft and grateful smile he gave him.

Khadgar, then, had begged him not to ask how he intended to escape. Medivh’s instincts rebelled but he had had to cave at that point, despite himself, despite the fear he felt. It was clear Lothar’s rescue was much more important to him than his own, and now that he knew why, Medivh felt like he had no right to refuse him.

It turned out Medivh really had had no other choice but to trust him.

 

 

 

# END ACT ONE

 


	16. Act Two: Ananke

* * *

# ACT TWO: anankê.

Anankê (Ancient Greek ἀνάγκη: anánkē)  
necessity beyond all supplications or sway, conceived as the ultimate dictator of all fate and circumstances, to which even the gods must ultimately pay homage and deference.

##### PART SIXTEEN [USA, New York City – Stormwind HQ]: coming home. 

The rest of the drive had gone silently. They had both been so deep in thought, the drive seemed over much quicker than it really was. Underneath his skin, Medivh could feel the anxiety of being stopped by police running through his veins, but it felt quieted and far away. No cop’s car blocked their way and they were parking in front of the bar just as the sun was rising.

They had not finished crossing the threshold that Lothar was already engulfed in Taria’s arms. There were tears, and disbelieving laughter, and Taria caressing Lothar’s bearded face over and over, eyes gleaming with such joy. Llane himself shed a few tears, careless and relieved. Medivh felt strangely cut off from the rejoicing.

Llane popped a bottle of champagne and poured glasses for the four of them. Lothar had to deal with the million questions his sister asked him, but he handled it with a smile and so much love in his eyes. It made Medivh’s heart ache.

Lothar told all about how the last two years went for him. Medivh found himself listening intently, catching every single word like they were ambrosia. In a way, it did feel like Lothar was a god, and they were his worshippers.

Medivh could see by Taria’s eyes getting teary again, and Llane’s way of asking questions–like he did not really want them answered–how much they blamed themselves for Lothar’s imprisonment. They were ashamed that they had let it happen, ashamed they had not tried to fight for his freedom. He guessed they must have felt ashamed that they had no role to play in setting him free again.

At this thought, Medivh felt smugness settle in him, a sort of satisfaction that he had been waiting for for years. He had felt so desperate and so often felt like he was failing everything he had ever tried; his relationships, keeping the business going, he had even failed Lothar. He had almost given up on saving him before Khadgar had come along.

Khadgar. He was the only subject they did not breach.

Soon enough, Lothar was tired of talking, and he started asking them questions. Medivh quietly left the room, heading outside for a smoke. He had tried to stop, had for a while, but he felt like he deserved one. After all, Lothar was free.

He breathed the smoke out into the cold November air, trying to make out the stars in the rapidly brightening sky. Already he could not see them, and he suddenly felt the need to ride out into the countryside so he could look up and see the entire firmament. He shivered, trying to remember the last time he went star gazing and failing. He used to go out at night, almost every night, lay under the stars for hours. He remembered doing it countless of times as a child, freezing under a blanket in the back of his mother’s truck, sipping on lukewarm coffee.

These times with his mother had become fewer and fewer and by the time he was thirteen, he had learned how to live by himself, a necessity when he did not know where she was or what she was doing eighty percent of the time. He did not blame her, and looked back on the times they spent together with warmth and love, never really regretting not seeing her anymore. At first, she could always seek him out, as he always waited for her. But as he grew and stopped caring so much if she loved him or not, he also stopped leaving her informations and hints on what he was doing, until she must have known as much about his whereabouts as he did about hers. It would have been, anyway, a danger to Stormwind, to have someone know such things about him. 

But the habit of stargazing never really left him. He went alone, for years, until he finally let himself become so familiar and comfortable with someone that he did not mind sharing this intimate moment with them. His first relationship did not last, nor did his second, or any after that. But he would always remember them, and the nights spent stargazing, with fondness.

Tonight, Medivh felt his heart sway as he looked back on his life, as he thought of all those people with whom he had shared near everything. Each and every one of them, he had left with regret but knowing, deep down, that it would be better for everyone involved. He was content with spending the rest of his life forging these deep, often short-lived relationships with people, some he still talked to today and others he had lost track of. He would have been content if that was all he ever experienced in terms of love.

Until he met her.

Medivh felt a cold chill seep under his clothes. He took a drag from his cigarette, holding it as long as he could, following the way the smoke entered his lungs and penetrated them, enjoying it. She never could quite get why he enjoyed smoking so much, had been the one to try and help him stop. For her, he was pretty sure he would have done anything, but fate had had a different point of view.

A sudden shiver had him drop his cigarette. He looked down, astonished, to find the half-smoked butt dying with a last spark on the whitened sidewalk. He stared at it, stared at the rising wisp of smoke and the sprinkles of white which surrounded it, slowly covering it. It was snowing. When he looked up at the sky again, he saw it was completely blank, snow clouds covering it from all sides. Still the sunlight streamed through, catching on every snow flake and rendering the world a uniform blank canvas, bright and cold.

The door from the bar opened behind him. He did not move.

“It’s snowing.”

Medivh hummed.

“I haven’t seen snow in… so long.”

He turned.

“They didn’t let you out into the yard if it had snowed?” he asked.

Lothar chuckled, shaking his head. “As if.”

Medivh smiled at him, thinking he could get used to this, talking about prison with Lothar in such a light-hearted manner. But even now, Medivh recognized the looming dark cloud above the both of them.

“I’m so sorry, Lothar,” he blurted out.

He had the nerve to look confused. “For what?” 

Medivh felt anger rising in him, stark and fierce. Taking a deep breath, he tried to reign himself in. “You know why.”

“Medivh, you saved me. You got me out. What could you possibly be sorry for?”

 _You really can’t guess?_ Medivh thought, bewildered.

“For leaving _him_ ,” he said, and regretted it immediately.

Lothar’s face, a second ago so true and open, now seemed like that of a marble statue. His beard couldn’t hide his lips, set in a tight line, nor the way his jaw had closed off in a hard angle, his eyes becoming ice cold, staring at a distant point. Medivh felt sorrow wash over him like a wave.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and it sounded like a sob.

“Keep it,” was the answer.

Lothar was back into the bar before he could say anything else, the door closing shut behind him. When Medivh finally followed him, the front room had been vacated, the champagne glasses left half drunk on a table. He picked them up, cleaned them and put them away, all the way choking back tears. When he was over, he noticed Taria looking at him from the backroom door. 

He addressed her a soft smile.

“Khadgar?” she asked, and the way she did made it sound like she already knew everything there was to know.

He nodded, feeling his eyes watering, and soon he was openly bawling, leaning against the counter and gripping its edge so tightly it dug painfully into his palms. He heaved and sobbed, grasping for air with every breath but the sorrow did not seem to want to recede. Taria’s hand settle on his shoulder, a seemingly futile gesture of support, but Medivh felt it grounding him. She started to rub his back in tiny circular motions, whispering tiny nothings.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffed.

“What have you got to be sorry for, love?” She smiled softly, cupping his face with both hands, and looked at him with such tender eyes, he had to smile back.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Then don’t apologize. You brought my brother back, Med. Thank you.”

Her voice sounded so genuine that it brought new tears in Medivh’s eyes.

“What happened?” she asked.

Suddenly, Medivh realized he could not tell her. He could not tell her how he knew he would be leaving Khadgar behind without knowing anything about the plan for him to escape, or if he even had a plan at all. He couldn’t tell her that he went through with saving Lothar the way Khadgar intended, not because he truly believed the kid could save himself but because he had convinced himself that if it meant Lothar was free, then anything else did not matter. He could not face her, and the look on her face, the betrayal, the terror, the slow realization that he had watched Khadgar throw himself to his own demise without trying to stop him, and for what? So he could get the satisfaction, the honor, the pride of having saved his friend?

How could he have ever been so stupid to think having Lothar back would make up for losing Khadgar? It didn’t. It made everything worse. All the happiness at Lothar being free again was shadowed by the price it had cost: Khadgar’s freedom. Medivh did not let himself even think of what they might have done to him. If he had, he could not have known which was worse: for him to have been killed, or for him to still be alive somewhere, in a dark cold room, at the hands of the US government. 

“Nothing happened,” he said, voice flat and emptied, “Khadgar will be fine.”

He saw on Taria’s face that she did not believe him. But she nodded, somber faced. She kissed him on the cheek, a small peck that felt like forgiveness.

“I’m going to bed. Join us?”

She looked at him expectantly. He gave her a small smile as an apology. She understood, rubbed his shoulder, before leaving. He stood there for a while, alone at the bar, the sun slowly filling the room with a bright warmth.  
 


	17. II, 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning; character being tortured (not graphic)

##### PART SEVENTEEN [USA, Dalaran County Prison – unknown room]: shooting star.

Cold water awoke him. He spluttered and coughed, blinking into the bright, bright light above him. He heard the bucket be set down with a clatter on the floor. He had closed his eyes as soon as they had opened, wincing from the sudden brightness hurting his eyeballs. Now he feared opening them again. He felt his hands and feet were still tied to the chair he was sitting in. He tried the links’ resistance and found them to be as tight as before he had passed out, if not more. Perhaps they had tightened them again while he had been out.

He heard a light chuckle, and had to restrain himself from sneering. He had no idea how long he had been in here, but he knew he had enough of hearing this voice, speaking to him conversely, while these hands tortured him.

“Well, well, well. Welcome back, Mr. Trust.”

Khadgar opened his eyes, willing them to express all the hate and anger he felt. He met his captor’s gaze, twinkling with twisted joy. He spat at his feet. 

His captor’s face changed in a second, dropping the overjoyed persona, and showing his cold and unforgiving true nature. Khadgar felt his stomach lurch at the sight. A hand grasped at his jaw, twisting his neck backwards. He bit back a cry, instead letting out a pained whimper.

“Now, now, this is no way to treat me, Mr. Trust. I could break each and every of your bones if I wanted to.”

Khadgar smiled. “Then why don’t you?”

The pain came and went like a tide, barely registering in Khadgar’s mind as it swam through the shock of the punch. When he came to again, he could feel copper in his mouth and he felt his lip break as he attempted another smile.

His face fell when he saw his captor standing near a table, the only furniture the room held, besides the very chair Khadgar was sitting on. On it were displayed various and numerous tools ranging from the pocket knife to shears to pliers. It seemed his captor was perusing the tools, hand hovering above them. But instead of picking one up, he turned towards a turn-player, that sat innocuously on the table and that Khadgar had not noticed until now. He felt his blood freeze in his veins.

Soft blues music started playing.

“It is a simple question I am asking you. I am only waiting for a simple answer,” he heard the man say.

Khadgar felt a muted panic rise in him. He gritted his teeth, having to stop himself from replying with another snarky comment which would earn him that much more pain. The man turned towards him, having grabbed a pair of small pliers. Despite himself, Khadgar felt himself relax at the size of the tool, while he knew for a fact it meant nothing to the kind and level of pain it could inflict. 

The man approached him slowly, almost leisurely, eyeing the pliers. He seemed to rock himself to the music and Khadgar half expected him to start humming. The music filled Khadgar’s ears, matching with his erratic heartbeat. 

“Anything you want to say before I start?”

Khadgar felt the panic recede like a wave, letting place to a calm and distant indifference. He heard himself speak before he could even finish his thought.

“Go fuck yourself.”

His captor sighed, mockingly shaking his head in disappointment.

“Well. Suit yourself, then.”

Everything dissolved into pain.

They brought him back to his room, limp and drained. On his bed was a clean set of clothes, the same weak orange all the inmates wore. Khadgar would have puked if he could. He did not even bother to wait until the guard left, stripping himself of his damp uniform, throwing it in a bloodied heap on the floor. He proceeded silently through the pain of his abused muscles, the strain of the gently drying cuts on his skin. He wished for one thing and it was sleep.

When he turned around, he was met with the focused gaze of the guard, eyeing him and not even hiding from it. Faintly, Khadgar felt fear, twisting dark and low in his guts. He remembered the feeling of hands grabbing him, their warmth on his slick skin, wet from the shower he had just gotten out of. He remembered the kicks and punches and how they had trapped his wrists and went for his knees. He had fallen, tried to cry out but they had stopped him from it and he had felt every cell of his skin lurch at their touch. They had left him on the floor that day, skin abused but he still had been spared the worse, he knew from the bits and pieces of dialogue that had reached his panic-ridden mind. 

Today was different, he knew, as the guard’s eyes roamed over his skin, protected by the thin layer of the uniform he had just donned. His gaze was predatory, and Khadgar was the prey, and Khadgar felt it in every bone of his body, yet he could not move. The guard took a step forward, and another, and another until he was inches away from Khadgar and he could feel his breath on his upper lip, coming out ragged and fast while Khadgar’s own had been reduced to barely nothing. 

The guard scoffed. The sound shook Khadgar’s entire body, the tremor springing his muscle into action and he scurried further into his cell, his back hitting the far wall like a death sentence. Suddenly, his breath filled the room, loud and hurried, each intake like that of a drowning man and the air was water. But the guard simply stared at him and he took the few steps back until he was at the door, his lips twisted in a sneer. 

“Dinner is in ten. You’re expected to show up.”

The guard left. Khadgar fell to the floor, his legs failing to hold him up. His chest heaved, the air burning his lungs, and a broken sob left his mouth, resonating through the empty space. He felt sharply and suddenly how alone he was, prisoner of the very system he had tricked. When they had found him in the dean’s office, right as he had finally managed to crack the emergency doors, he had not even tried to resist. Instead he had smiled, knowing that Anduin was safe. They had only had to grab his arms, heft him up from the chair and drag him away. He had not even cared.

He had had the fleeting thought, back when he was still planning the whole prison break, of what they would do to him afterwards. He had thought he would get put on the death row, and killed off within days, never to be heard from again. Or perhaps they would not even bother with the death penalty, perhaps they would kill him when he least expected it, bullet through the back of his skull in a dark corridor, or poison in his food and dead in the morning… He had come to accept it. Came to yearn it, even, in the early hours of the morning when Medivh had passed out on the dusty mattress and Khadgar was still up, blood-shot eyes as he stared, unseeing, at Anduin’s walls. 

Anduin… A dry sob escaped his throat as he tumbled to the floor, bringing his knees against his chest and his arms around his knees, and squeezing, squeezing until he was as small as possible, trying to get swallowed up by the floor and the impossible wideness of the cell.

He stumbled into the mess hall, blurry eyed, and found his way to the food line in a daze. He heard and felt the whispers around him, but if they were indeed directed at him or at least about him, Khadgar did not find it in him to care. He sat, he ate, he went out into the yard.

He was not allowed, but had learnt to pick locks before he’d learnt how to properly spell words. He heard the guard call to him, asking him for his name, but he ignored him. He could well shoot him right there and then, he thought. It would be a mercy. 

Khadgar went to sit at the usual table, the one he waited at for Anduin for weeks, and where they would talk, first so that Khadgar could tell him about the business, then about books, a lot about books, before they went into more personal matters, and Khadgar had only realized how much of his life he’d already told Anduin when it was already too late. No one had ever came so close to knowing him, truly knowing him, in all the years since his father had been locked up. 

Khadgar, upon realizing, was supposed to feel fear, to back away from Anduin and all that he represented, a danger in Khadgar’s carefully thought up standards, yet he had felt none. Instead, he had felt closer to him than he ever did before, and more importantly, he had felt comfortable, sharing such insignificant yet deeply private parts of himself. He had felt he needed it. And Anduin had accepted it all, graciously, attentively, and in turn, sharing some of himself.

Khadgar had loved him. He would never see him again.

The guard was calling out to him, ordering him to go back inside. He ended up having to hand cuff him and drag him back to his cell, throwing him violently to the ground. Khadgar whimpered, and did not move, lying on the hard, unforgiving ground until they came for him again.

It was early in the morning, earlier than the wakeup call. They opened his door manually, picked him up from his prostrate stance on the floor, cuffed him, and pushed him outside. More than just a few inmates had been alerted by the sound, and they watched him walk through the corridors, faces and hands between the bars of their cell door.

This was unusual. Khadgar found it hard to care. They led him through corridors he had never seen before, but before long all of them looked the same, the dark tiled floor, the high security doors, each having to be opened with a special badge, the steady green emergency exit signs.

The last door was different, though, and when they opened it, a rush of cold air hit Khadgar’s bare arms. He faltered, only picking up his pace when a guard pushed at his back, hard. Once outside, it was only a couple of steps before the unmistakable sound of a car door opening brought Khadgar out of his sleepy daze. 

He raised his head suddenly, staring with wide eyes at the soldier dressed in full military uniform that held out a hand for him. He was in a black truck, the kind with no markings nor plate. Khadgar accepted the hand, letting himself be hauled up into the back of the truck. The door closed and they were plunged in darkness.

_This is it. I’ve finally made it. I’ve not told them anything, they have tortured me, beaten me, humiliated me… I have not betrayed him. They will set me free now. I’ve finally reached it…_

_The end._

The door opened suddenly, wringing him from his slumber. The sun had risen above the horizon, filling the dark truck in blinding light. He felt himself be dragged up and out of the car, heard the sounds of boots and distant conversations. Soon, he was back inside a building, the corridors lit agreeably. As they walked, Khadgar surrounded by four fully armed soldiers, he observed dozens of black suits walking around, pens and papers in hand, briefcases, sunglasses reflecting the light. None paid any attention to him, the convict, dressed in orange slacks, sporting a five day beard and having gone even longer without sleep. He must have looked half dead already. They would finish the job.

The soldiers had him walk through a hundred corridors more, as if to confuse him so he could not find his way back should he escape. He wanted to tell them he would not have been able to remember the way even if they had only walked straight, he wanted to point out that black suits roamed the place, their handgun still unmistakably visible underneath their suit jacket. After what seemed like hours, they stopped him in front of a nondescript door, black wood, a clean iron handle and no plate whatsoever to indicate what it led to.

Khadgar was uncuffed, roughly, and he rubbed at his wrists where bright red lines cut into the skin. The door was opened and he was pushed into the room. The door closed behind him with barely a sound. He looked curiously behind him, noticing that on this side of the door, there was no handle but an electronic pad with a keyboard. The room was brightly lit in a cold white light. The guards had not followed. He was alone. Or not quite.

A voice spoke behind him, and he spun around, the few words planting themselves like arrows through his skull.

“Welcome, Mr Rastov. Come, take a seat.”  
 


	18. II, 3

##### PART EIGHTEEN [USA, unknown – the room]: cursed.

“Welcome, Mr Rastov. Come, take a seat.”

She was dressed in a black suit, similar to the one all the others wore, yet something about her was different. Her dark skin made her eyes glint almost supernaturally. She kept a neutral face, carefully put together yet none of her professionalism could hide the fact she was amazingly beautiful. Or perhaps it was all part of the same act. She was angel and demon, held together with beauty and danger. She held something hard in her gaze, and it made him feel trapped, lost like he had never felt before. Like a buzz under his skin, Khadgar felt like he knew her.

He suddenly found himself wishing for his prison cell again, wishing for the sickly green lights, wishing for death. Anything, if it allowed him to escape her. 

She knew his name. He should not be so surprised. It was written on all his official records, along with his adopted parents’ name. It wasn’t a secret, _per se_ , but he had not heard that name in years. 

“Who are you?” he asked.

She smiled, gesturing to a chair. The room was small, a huge one-way mirror covering an entire wall. He wondered if anyone was watching from the other side. The woman was standing next to a table. There were two chairs facing each other. He sat, and she did the same.

“My name is Garona,” she told him.

“Who do you work for?”

The question dragged a laugh out of her, and she did not answer.

“You have become quite a mystery to us, Mr. Rastov.”

“Why do you keep using that name?”

“Why do you ask so many questions?”

He frowned, levelling his gaze as he looked at her. She had set her hands on the table in front of her, carefully manicured hands draped over one another. She sat still, unnaturally so, keeping herself from making any kind of movements as if he could have deduced anything from it. He wondered what she saw in him, a scruffy kid whose only sin had been to have been born to the wrong man and having cared about him.

“Mr. Rastov is dead,” he told her.

“Your father,” she agreed. She stopped, shifted on her seat. “What is your connection to Anduin Lothar?”

Khadgar smiled. Even as he felt his heart miss a beat, he stretched his lips into the sliest smile he could muster, and he met her gaze head on.

“Who? Never heard that name before in my life.”

Her eyes narrowed, as if warning him. _Don’t play that game with me,_ they seemed to say. Khadgar dismissed the message as soon as he received it.

“I am rather confused as to my presence here. I thought you’d have killed me already.”

“Would you have preferred us to?”

“Yes.”

His promptness surprised her. She dropped the persona for a half second, lips opening on a sharp breath, fingers tightening momentarily before she forcibly fell back into the stoic role she had donned. Then, she smiled, softly and leisurely, an appearance of compassion which felt like déjà-vu.

“They told me you’d be a feisty one. Tell me, how did you come to know Mr. Lothar?”

Khadgar chuckled. “They could not make me talk while they lashed at my skin or pulled out my teeth, but they thought a woman would do the trick? I’m sorry, ma’am, you are beautiful, but you might have gotten the wrong impression.”

She dropped the smile, and suddenly Khadgar wished he had not talked. He realized with a pained sort of clarity he could not, in his present state, work her up enough that she might snap and order him to be sentenced to death. She was too smart to fall for his easy tricks and she had orders. She would follow them, he knew, even if it took days after days of her sitting on that very chair in front of him.

He swallowed hard, and for the first time, he came to regret the day he ever heard about Anduin.

“I take it you persist in saying you don’t know the man?”

He nodded numbly.

“So you did not hack into the Violet Hold’s systems in order to help him escape, you did not switch working shifts with him a month ago, and,” she pulled out a file from a briefcase, opening it expertly, “this isn’t you, on this camera feed, very clearly kissing him?”

Khadgar’s eyes widened as they fell on the picture. Sure enough, it showed the two of them, standing in the corridor that day in the Hold, wrapped around each other like they needed it to breathe and Khadgar knew it had felt like it, back then. Anduin was clearly recognizable but Khadgar was facing away from the camera, face hidden under Anduin’s hand. He wore the standardized haircut for inmates and the uniforms held no personalized feature. It could have been anyone.

“I don’t know who that man is, but he’s a lucky one,” he settled on saying eventually.

“Why?”

“This is Anduin Lothar, right? A damn fine man, if you’re asking me.”

He smirked, even though he did not believe in his feigned bravado any more than Garona did. She sighed and closed the file, aligning it meticulously along the side of the table. She tapped her fingers over it a few times, seemingly pondering their situation at hand. Suddenly, she fixed her gaze on Khadgar, her dark eyes unreadable. As she stared at him, her mouth a thin worried line, her eyes, no longer professional, but yet still carefully guarded, the sense of déjà-vu washed over him again. This time, he did not try to chase after it, instead letting it settle in him. The weight of her gaze was becoming almost uncomfortable when she finally spoke again.

“What did they promise you?”

Khadgar gaped. “Beg pardon?”

“What did they tell you that you would throw everything away to save _him_?”

Khadgar had already opened his mouth to deny whatever she was implying when something in her voice made him wonder. The way she had said, _him_ , as if the very thought of the man was repulsive to her, and then the use of the pronoun, _they_. Khadgar had known they had arrested Anduin under the very heavy assumption he had been part of the mafia, but he doubted that was what Garona meant.

In fact, he knew that wasn’t what she meant. Faintly, the thought _You haven’t aged a bit_ raced through his mind as the image of a smiling Garona appeared, a sly, on-the-spot photograph which had not managed to capture even half of her beauty. He remembered it clearly for having stared at it for hours on end on never-ending nights. He remembered wondering who she was and why it was that she was pictured on Anduin’s wall, the photo of her being one of the first things that caught your eyes when you entered the apartment, perhaps the very first, by how it was placed and the sheer amount of care that had obviously been put into taking the pictures and arranging them on the wall. Khadgar had not asked questions though–he had picked up immediately on Medivh’s refusal to even so much as glance in the direction of the pictures.

Now, recognizing in front of him the very woman who seemed to have held such an important place in both Anduin’s and Medivh’s life, Khadgar felt lost. Not for the first time since this whole thing had started, he felt as though he had stepped into something much bigger than him, something he had no place nor right to interfere with and yet here he was. And suddenly he realized he was now intricately involved and there was no turning back, had not been since that day he had come back to Medivh, and told him _I’m going to save Lothar_. He was in for life, now. And he was ok with that.

“Garona,” he started.

He hesitated, wondering how much of his hand he could tip before it was too late and all that he had done, all that he had sacrificed to get Anduin out would have been for nothing. He had endured the worst of torture to protect him, yet Khadgar was now closer to revealing at least a small amount of the truth, to this woman he had only truly met today and knew so little of except for her name. No, he thought, that was not all that he knew about her.

“What had they told you that you betrayed him?”

She took a sharp intake of breath, almost imperceptible, but it was all Khadgar needed to know he had hit right.

“I’m sorry?” she asked.

“You know him,” he told her. “Anduin.”

The name slipped easily from his lips. He realized too late, by the sudden squint of her eyes, that by the use of only Anduin’s first name, she deduced all that he had tried to hide from her from the start. Still he kept on.

“Were you already working for the government when you met? Or did that happen afterwards? Were you the one to investigate him and arrest him?”

Garona chuckled then, stopping him. 

“Curiosity killed the cat… Yes, I did know him but I had nothing to do with his arrest. But you know him, too, after all. How did you get to meet him?”

Khadgar turned his head, avoiding her gaze. He did not know what he should tell and what he should still keep secret. He also wanted to find out more about Garona’s relationship with Anduin or even with the whole of Stormwind. Carefully, he stayed silent.

“Very well,” she said. She went to stand up and Khadgar swiveled his head around, staring at her with wide opened eyes. 

“That’s it?” he asked. 

She rose an elegant eyebrow.

“If you’re not going to talk, I’m not going to waste my time with you. You’ll be led to a cell and I’ll come back tomorrow. This until you’ve talked.”

“I won’t,” he said, chin raised in defiance.

She smiled. “I’m sure you won’t.”

She pushed the chair back and stood up, walking to the keyboard next to the door. She entered the code, careful that Khadgar could not see, and the door clicked open. Bright light flooded the small room.

“Wait.”

She stopped. Khadgar swallowed, unease settling deep in his bones.

“What was your relationship with him?”

She turned around, looking surprised.

“Jealous, are you?” A mocking smile ghosted over her lips.

He groaned, dismissing the question with a wave of his hand. He thought for a second she would leave him without another word but she closed the door, leaning against it.

“I guess it won’t hurt anyone,” she said. “I was already a FBI agent when I met him but I knew nothing of him. We met, became friends. He didn’t know about my job and I thought he only worked at a bar he owned with his sister. We were essentially…”

Despite himself, Khadgar found himself leaning forward, eager to hear everything and anything Garona could tell him.

“…drinking buddies.”

Khadgar blinked.

“Disappointed?” she chuckled. “I thought you would be. Mr. Rastov…”

“Trust,” he muttered.

She blinked. She seemed to ponder something, and then she went back to her seat before carefully started speaking again. 

“Your father was imprisoned in the Violet Hold. Died there, actually.”

“Yeah?” he snapped.

“Are you ashamed of it? So ashamed you don’t even want to wear his name again?”

He laughed, dry and hard, forced. “Do you know how many schools, jobs I have been refused because my father was Sergei Rastov?”

“I do, actually,” she gestured to her briefcase, where he knew his file was, detailing every single part of his life.

“And do you know that if I hadn’t lied at his trial, he’d have gotten, what, five, ten years? But instead they imprisoned him for life. I refused to go see him. He died.”

Garona was silent. 

“You feel guilty.”

“What is this, a counselor session?”

“No. This is an interrogation.”

Khadgar swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. The room seemed to have shrunk since he walked into it earlier. He wanted nothing more but to escape, yet he wanted to hear so much more of what Garona could tell him.

“What happened?” he asked.

She watched him for a few seconds, breathing deeply and slowly, calm.

“What good will it do you to know?” she asked, standing up. She grabbed her briefcase and headed for the door.

Khadgar watched her go. The door closed behind her with a barely audible click, and Khadgar felt all energy leave his body. In seconds, he fell asleep on the table.  
 


	19. II, 4

##### PART NINETEEN [USA, unknown – the room]: dreaming out loud. 

It was the fourth day and Khadgar had decided he was done talking. Each day had been the same: wake up, eat what little food they gave him, walk from the cell to the interrogation room between two mute uniformed soldiers, sit in front of Garona, always the same, professional and unrelenting, and they would talk and talk, and Khadgar was lost.

Every day, the same question.

“Where is Anduin?”

She had dropped the surname somewhere between the first and second day.

“You really think I’m gonna tell you?” but the answer was slow, tired, and rhetorical: no, she didn’t.

And they would move on to nonsensical questions, about him, about the prison, Garona never letting anything show. She observed him, eyed his every movement and twitches, perhaps trying to pick up when he was lying. But he hardly needed to lie when all she asked about were such painfully mundane things. He didn’t know what rules she had set, but he was done playing by them. 

Khadgar had never felt so alone. He had had his fair share of loneliness, being the son of a convict, an adopted child who had never, much to their despair, accepted his parents as truly his, always closing himself off from any relationship which could have become valuable. He had treasured his loneliness, thought he was better off with it.

He had always been a problematic child. He remembered, around ten years old and his parents had heard from the teacher he had no friends, never talked to anyone unless asked, and they had sent him to see a therapist. She had deemed him a “very interesting” case. His parents had been delighted to hear of any progress she reported back to them. Her office was filled with light, blue curtains around a view on the local church, a wooden desk meticulously organized. She sat on her chair, facing the comfortable armchair she had ready for her clients. Khadgar hated her on sight. She asked too many questions, knew already too much. She wanted to know about his parents, the ones who were either dead or in prison, wanted to know if he remembered, what he remembered, why he didn’t want to see his father. Khadgar hated it.

Soon enough he had convinced his parents she was useless and he didn’t need to go anymore. He had never had to see her again. She had, anyway, never figured out why he didn’t want friends, while the answer was fairly easy: he didn’t trust them. They were childish, and talkative, and curious and Khadgar had secrets. After that, he had been careful to entertain his parents with tale of friends he barely spoke to in reality, but enough so that the teacher would see him socializing once in a while, and any suspicion had been lifted. Khadgar had never been asked about his father ever again.

He didn’t like the other children. But he liked being alone. It hadn’t taken much to convince his classmates that he was not fun to be around, and they left him alone. And so, Khadgar had turned to books. He had, at first, distrusted these little paper objects with strange lines of symbols written on them until he had learned to read, and then he never could stop. Books were his only real link to the outside world, and all his social skills had been picked up in books, which meant that at eighteen, having to go to college, Khadgar had found himself liking it better when no one paid attention to him. He had dropped out, cut off ties with his adoptive parents despite wearing their name, except for a letter once in a while to let them know he was alive, and he had found a job.

He had been alright until he was twenty-four and tied to a chair and blindfolded, his ears being assaulted by foreign accents bumping on strange words, a deformed version of what little French he still remembered from high school. 

But now, and he was sitting on a chair again, the same unforgiving metal behind his back. His hands were free and his eyes could see, but it was all the same: Khadgar was prisoner, and he would be, until he died. But he knew, he had never been free.

Garona sat in front of him, manicured fingers laced in front of her, always carefully put, sitting so straight it was anything but natural. There was nothing to trust about her. Every breath she took was calculated, every squint of her eyes was thought out. And Khadgar was so tired.

“Where is Anduin?”

_I don’t know._

There it was, the truth, but Khadgar swallowed and he didn’t answer, because if she knew the truth then he would be useless. He was not afraid of dying, prayed for it at night when he couldn’t sleep, and he hadn’t been able to since he had arrived here, since that night Anduin got out. 

Garona nodded. “Was your father ever violent towards you?”

Silence.

“It says here you testified he sometimes hit your mother.”

He was so tired.

“Did he ever hit you?”

He looked at her, and set his gaze on her, trying to convey all his hate, all his anger but he knew he failed because he didn’t feel it anymore, only felt drained and exhausted, not capable of taking much more. He could feel, with every question, that he was not going to make it. But he had to.

Being alive, he didn’t want to be, but he had to because he hadn’t gone through all this not to be sure that Anduin got out alive. That he was free, that he was safe, and the only way Khadgar had to know that was if Garona still had use of him.

“Very well. You’re not going to talk. Then let me tell you something, Khadgar. I know everything about you.”

He smirked. He couldn’t help himself.

“I do. And you know that. You’ve seen I have your file, you know I’ve read it. You know I’ve read the transcript of the trial. The deposition. Your father’s defense. I’ve also read your medical record. You saw a therapist, when you were ten, is that right?”

She paused, not really waiting for an answer, but perhaps to see if he would react. He didn’t.

“She was convinced you were traumatized. She said it explained why you never saw your father again. You couldn’t. She thought it was because you couldn’t accept that he had been a murderer, that this man you had trusted could have been a violent and cruel man, and you couldn’t accept that he had killed your mother.”

Khadgar had never heard that, doubted that his parents ever heard of it either. He wondered how they got access to his therapist’s notes, despite medical secret. He figured the government could well do what they wanted with him. They owned him now. He had given himself over.

“I don’t think that’s quite true,” Garona continued. 

His eyes snapped to hers, a millisecond but she hadn’t missed it, and he fixed the table again, feigning indifference.

“See, I don’t think you really cared that your father was a murderer. Plenty of them around, wouldn’t you say? I should know, I work with them every day. Nothing special about him, then. But you cared that he was your father. That’s what you couldn’t accept. Am I wrong, Khadgar?”

He was drilling a hole through the table now.

“See, I think you feel guilty.”

His jaw was hurting but he couldn’t get himself to unclench his teeth. It was hard enough already to keep his eyes on the table so as not to glare at her as she spoke.

“You’re not guilty because he hit you. You’re not guilty because he killed your mom.”

He hated how she said that, how she didn’t say mother but used the diminutive, like he would if he was speaking to his adoptive mother now, like he had never called his mother, instead calling her Mama. 

“You’re guilty because he died. And you weren’t there when you could’ve been and now it’s too late. You’re never gonna see him again when you would want to. Isn’t that right?”

He hated her.

“And you know what else I think?” She had changed her posture then, leaned back in her chair, fiddling with the file in front of her absentmindedly. “I think you wanted to forgive yourself. I think the guilt was eating away at you and you finally decided to do something. So you saved Lothar because he was like your father.”

“What do you know?” he finally snapped.

She smiled, leisurely, almost mockingly.

“I don’t know anything, Khadgar. I was only… thinking out loud.”

He would have launched himself across the table and strangled her if he had had the strength. She seemed to feel it because suddenly she grabbed the file, stood up and walked to the door. She turned around just as she unlocked the door.

“I’m gonna get a coffee. Want me to bring you anything?”

He stared at her in astonishment.

“Have you reverted back to not saying anything?” 

“What?” he articulated.

She laughed and it sounded so wrong in the narrow room.

“Do you want something, a coffee, something to eat?”

He was so taken aback that he shook his head, and she nodded once, leaving the room. He slouched on his seat, playing back what had just happened. When Garona came back, a steaming cup of coffee in each hand and a small paper bag under her arm, he still hadn’t made sense of it.

She set one cup in front of him and the strong whiff of coffee rose to his nostrils. He breathed in deeply, eyes closing despite himself as the scent overcame his senses. He barely heard Garona’s chuckle. His eyes snapped open at the sound of crinkling paper. 

“Croissants,” she said.

He gaped.

“You can take one.”

“Why?” he couldn’t help asking.

“Because I’m trying to get you to be so comfortable around me you’re just gonna start spilling all your secrets.”

He stared at her.

“I’m just kidding. Eat,” she insisted, a small smile on her lips.

He devoured the pastry, not caring if he got crumbs everywhere. Garona watched him, face neutral once again.

“Thanks,” he said once he was done.

“Where is Anduin?”

He choked, laughter coming out in between coughs.

“You’re really not joking around?” he asked, disbelieving.

But she was not smiling. He swallowed hard around the sudden lump in his throat.

“What if I told you I didn’t know?”

“I wouldn’t believe you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What if it was the truth?”

“You wouldn’t tell me.”

He frowned. “Fair enough.”

She took a sip of her coffee and he mirrored her.

“What if—“

She stopped herself, traced the lid of her coffee with her finger, staring at it like it held all the answers of the universe.

He didn’t push her, figuring if she had something to say, she would manage to eventually. Instead, he calmly drank his coffee, grateful for every gulp of the hot and savory liquid.

She stole a quick glance at him and he met it head on. He wanted to show her he wasn’t afraid. That seemed to make up her mind.

“What if I told you I was willing to get you out?”

He blinked. She seemed totally serious, but she always did.

“I wouldn’t believe you,” he decided on saying.

She had the ghost of a smile. “And you would be right…”

She went back to sipping her coffee then, and for Khadgar it felt like the end of the conversation, felt like he had missed something, missed his chance perhaps. And yet, he couldn’t believe for a minute she could have meant it.

“What did he ever see in you?” he asked.

He could tell she wasn’t expecting it, her eyes losing their glazed-over appearance, snapping into focus. 

“Sorry?”

“Anduin. How did you two ever become friends?”

She looked taken aback for a second before letting a smile grace her lips. It seemed to Khadgar that it was the first genuine smile he had ever witnessed on her.

“We were young,” she said, voice wondering.

He thought she would leave it at that, as if that explained anything, but she finally spoke again.

“He was fascinated, I guess. He always walked around with this camera of his, taking pictures of everything and everyone. He thought I wasn’t looking when he took pictures of me, but I noticed.”

That explained the photos all over Anduin’s walls, Khadgar thought.

“And I was fascinated too…” Her voice faltered, and something sad and quiet passed through her eyes. “Anduin was a good friend, I guess, but… No, he never could have competed against Med.”

Khadgar started. She noticed it, expression closing off immediately as she reverted back to the secret agent persona. 

“You know Medivh?” she asked, voice hard.

He nodded numbly.

“Of course you do. Never could go long without one another, these two. They really got you completely wrapped up in their business, didn’t they? First Lothar, the Wrynns, now Medivh. Or was it the other way around?”

He stayed stubbornly silent, mind racing. He wanted to ask, _What about Medivh?_ but he couldn’t. All this time he had suspected her to have been involved with Lothar, when really it had been Medivh? Khadgar couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

She looked ready to burst, seething in anger.

Suddenly, she grabbed the empty cups and the paper bag, stood up and stormed out of the room. He heard the automated door click shut behind her, effectively locking him up. He blinked at her empty seat, all the while wondering: _What the hell have I just done?_  


	20. II, 5

##### PART TWENTY [USA, New York City – Stormwind HQ]: when the sun goes down. 

Medivh locked the door behind him, pulling the screen in front of the windows, blocking out the soft midday November light and plunging the bar in darkness. He navigated between the tables by the light coming from the kitchen door. He knew this place like his back pocket, could probably find his way through total darkness. He had spent most of the last ten years here. He hated to let it go.

Entering the kitchen, Medivh eyed the boxes stacked neatly in the corner. The place had been scraped clean. The cupboards had been emptied, the back rooms swiped, every paper shredded or burnt, the flat on the second floor left with only the most basic furniture they couldn’t move out. All was left was to bring the boxes full of kitchenware to the van and then drive them off to the dump. Soon enough, it would be like no one had ever set foot in here.

Four days were all that had been needed for a decade of work to disappear. A pity, if Medivh was honest, but worth it, if only for the non-descript car waiting in the back alley, ready to start speeding towards the border. He smiled as he thought of his three companions, who were packing for the long one-way trip ahead of them. Medivh would stay behind—they still had some things to take care of before Stormwind could be left for dead. His heart constricted painfully.

He had always been destined to manage a bar. His mother, he had discovered too late for his liking, had been working for the mafia in one for years. At home, she had taught him everything he had needed to know: how to work accounting, how to manage people, and the most important, how to make cocktails. He had learned, circumspect, until the goal of all this had been made clear to him the day his mother completely disappeared and he had received a letter. He had been hired to work as a barman in a bar called the _Stromgarde_. He wasn’t stupid, had understood his mother’s activity long before that, and he had walked into the bar knowing fully what had been expecting him. He worked there for years, assuming his missing mother’s place until he founded a bar of his own. He had not chosen the mafia life—not many people did. But the mafia life had not chosen him either. His mother had chosen for him.

It was all he had. All that he had ever worked for, all that he had ever protected, put time and effort into, the goal of his life was to keep the bar and the business going so the family was happy. He received regular letters congratulating him on his management. He had kept all of them in a special folder. He had treasured them. Now, same as all their paperwork, payment, deliveries, transit logs, he had watched the letters burn so that they wouldn’t leave any trace of their activity around. It was the procedure. They had orders and they followed them.

But to watch his whole life go up in flames had still been a shock to Medivh. He wouldn’t change anything, though, even if it meant he had it back. It had all been worth it. If only to have seen Lothar again, he knew it had all been worth it. Now, he needed to make sure it didn’t all go to waste. He would do everything in his power to make sure Lothar, and along with him Llane and Taria, reached the Canadian border safely.

Just as he was about to close the door, Medivh caught a movement at the edge of his eye. He stilled, searching the darkness, gaze hardening. He could only make out two or three tables, the chairs, the end of the counter. Everything was perfectly still. Led by a gut feeling, Medivh took out his phone, turning on the flashlight. He scanned the bar, the bright light sweeping over the empty tabletops, making shadows in the corners jump out and glass bottles shimmer. Not noticing anything out of the ordinary, he turned off his phone and turned around.

A hand grabbed him from behind, stifling his surprised yelp. A knife was slid under his throat. Cold metal pushed against his flesh. He sucked in a breath. His blood froze in his veins as a voice whispered into his ear.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Medivh stilled. His hand hovered over his holster, tied around his thigh. He squeezed his fingers into a fist, damning himself for not having been more observant. Where had his assailant come from? How could he have not seen them?

“That’s better,” the voice whispered. “Now take the gun out, slowly, and put it on the counter, Medivh.”

His mind was sent into a whirlwind. They knew his name. They got into the bar. All of a sudden, Medivh panicked. He breathed in deeply, trying to retain a calm composure despite his heart wanting to burst out of his chest. He took the gun out of its holster, holding it carefully, never trying to grab it, and put it down on the nearest surface, sending it sliding out of grasp. He swallowed despite the blade, feeling its sharp edge nick his skin.

“Very good. You’re not gonna scream, are you?”

His assailant chuckled. Medivh wondered if they really expected an answer when they had their hand on his mouth and a blade on his throat. Suddenly, he was free, and he was pushed forward. He sprawled on the kitchen counter, its edge hitting him in the chest. The shock left him breathless, but he swirled around to face the intruder.

They were dressed entirely in black, face hidden behind a mask which covered everything except for their eyes. Besides the knife in their hand, Medivh noticed a few holsters on their hips and thighs. He could guess they had more weapons hidden in their boots or on their back.

They leaned leisurely against the counter, twirling the blade, and eyeing them intensely.

“You look good,” they said, and Medivh couldn’t help but start at the statement.

“What?” he uttered.

They laughed, a sound so terribly familiar yet so inappropriate in their current situation. Medivh’s eyes widened and his hands started shaking.

“No,” he whispered. He repeated the word, all the while trying to get as far away as possible, but they had him trapped in the kitchen. The only two doors were accessible solely if he could get past the intruder, a feat he knew he was unable to perform.

“No?” the unknown person repeated. “Why not?”

“You’re dead!” he yelled, and even to him, his voice sounded distorted, twisted into a terrible scream. Panic flashed through his mind, and the world seemed to be tightening around him. He needed to get out of here.

“Am I?”

Their hand rose slowly. Medivh watched, eyes bulging out in terror. It would reach the face if he did nothing. It was almost there, about to grab the edge of the mask and pull it up.

Medivh lurched forward, grabbed the person’s arm and pulled it away from their face in one movement. Somehow, he had also grabbed the hand which held the knife, and he now held it away from him, the blade catching the light.

The person’s eyes widened in surprise.

They stayed unmoving, arms stretched out in the opened space, Medivh’s fingers tight around the other’s wrists, and eyes locked together. The more he gazed, and the more tears welled up in his eyes until his cheeks were drenched. He sniffed and all of a sudden it was over. The panic receded and he could see what was in front of him.

His hold weakened and the blade clattered noisily on the ground. He brought his hands up to the mask, softly brushing against the fabric before grabbing its edge. He pulled, revealing smooth dark skin, well-defined lips, brilliant eyes.

“Am I dead, now, Medivh?” Garona asked him.

He could see so much dancing in her eyes yet could not make sense of any of it. His own mind was filled with questions and doubt but despite it all, the relief he felt overcame everything.

“How…?”

She laughed, it sounded bitter but she hid it well.

“I’ll explain. But there’s a reason why I’m here.”

Medivh’s brow furrowed. “No. Tell me now.”

Garona took a step backwards, taken aback by the hard tone of his voice.

“We don’t have time, Med.”

“You left me. You left all of us without a word, we thought you were dead. What happened? What happened that you couldn’t give us a word, a sign that you were alive, instead of leaving us to think the worst had happened?”

Garona closed her eyes, breathing out loudly. She pinched the bridge of her nose and her annoyance only spiked Medivh’s anger up.

“Tell me!” he practically yelled.

She snapped her head up, stabbing him with her gaze deeper than any blade could. He knew she would not lie to him, not after ten years of pretending she was dead, not after showing up in his bar unannounced, aggressing him, threatening him. But he knew, right before it was spoken, he would regret ever hearing the truth.

“I’m a FBI agent, Med.”

He whimpered.

“No. I don’t believe you.”

“Well you better. Because right now, I’ve got a twenty-four year old man in custody and I bet you’ll believe me when I say he’s in bad shape.”

Medivh’s heart missed a beat.

“Khadgar?” he asked, hope blossoming inside his chest. He tried to tamper it down, keep it out of his voice, but he failed miserably.

Garona smiled viciously.

“Yeah. Do you remember him? You ruined his life. I’m here to fix the mess you’ve made.”

He blinked. Genuinely, he uttered: “What the fuck?”

“Yeah. Are you willing to listen to me, now?”

“No.”

She was dumbfounded.

“No, I’m not. You can’t just walk in here, threaten me, throw names around and expect me to go along with whatever bullshit you’ve just told me. So, what the fuck, Garona?”

It was her turn to blink owlishly, her beautiful brown eyes shrouded by confusion. Medivh shook himself.

“Where were you?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“You’re FBI?”

“Yeah.”

The next question stuck itself in his throat, and he struggled to get it out.

“Have you always been?”

 _Always_ was vague but she caught on to what he was implying immediately.

“I was assigned to monitor you,” she answered, “you, Lothar, the whole of Stormwind. Find out what was really going on behind those walls. To bring you down.”

He realized—too late—he didn’t want to hear it.

“Then why didn’t you?” he asked despite himself.

“What do you think?” The look on her face was heart-shattering. “I fell in love. With you.”

Silence hung between them.

“Why are you here?” he asked suddenly.

“I told you. I’m here to save Khadgar.”

He laughed humorlessly. 

“Yeah, right,” he couldn’t help but say. When he looked over at Garona, and realized how serious she looked, his jaw dropped. “Wait, really?” he asked, disbelieving.

For the first time, she had the courtesy of looking uncomfortable. The absurdity of the situation hit Medivh like a truck, and he was left breathless, trying to hang on to what little sense of reality he still had. He grabbed the countertop behind him, squeezing it so tightly he felt it cut through his palms.

“Yeah,” he heard Garona say. She couldn’t look him in the eyes as she continued: “I helped you once…” He waited for her to finish her thought but she seemed to think better of it. Suddenly, she stared right at him, and he wished he could understand what he saw in her eyes. “I can’t let you ruin this boy’s life, Medivh. I won’t.”

This boy. Khadgar. As guilt made itself known as a physical pain blooming in his chest, Medivh realized he had been holding it for a long time. He had, if he allowed himself to be completely honest with himself, held this guilt for months now, ever since he had seen Khadgar, lost and scared and so, so lonely, tied to a chair in an unknown basement. It had been his fault because he lacked Lothar’s sense of leadership and it was his guys who fucked up, resulting in the goods being stolen and Khadgar to be taken hostage. The French mobsters had rightfully thought he was one of theirs while he had had nothing to do with any mafia. That innocence had been lost forever.

Medivh had understood that pretty quickly. The moment he had made his offer to Khadgar, pretending he actually owed him for having saved his life—and what life? He would be in the Irish mafia’s pay for the rest of it—Medivh had known he would regret it. And he did, the very next day. Calling Khadgar to apologize and take back everything that had been said should have been enough. He was entirely ready to forget about him, only occasionally checking on him to make sure he was alright, as promised. 

The look on Khadgar’s face, the hard line in which his jaw was set, that day at the bar when Medivh had made him wait for hours hoping he would disappear if he only stared long enough, had shown to Medivh that he would never be able to forgive himself. The kid was in—the mafia life had chosen him. Or perhaps, as Medivh had learnt months later, perhaps it was in his genes all along, in that criminal blood which ran through his veins just as it did through Medivh’s. Medivh had been groomed since birth to undertake this job, this life. Khadgar had had the opportunity of a way out—in all probability, if it hadn’t been for Medivh and his continuous fuck-ups, he should have stayed out of it. But Medivh had fucked up.

“So?” 

Medivh started. Garona was looking at him with growing intensity.

“So what?” he shot back.

“Are you in?”

His mind reeled.

“Do I want to save Khadgar, you mean? Or am I in as in, do I trust you enough to actually believe you want to save him?”

She snorted. “I knew it. I don’t even know why I came here.”

“I don’t know why you bothered, either.”

She glared at him. “You don’t trust me?”

She had the audacity to sound offended.

“No.”

Simple, clear, it cut through the space between them like a cleaver. 

“Well then,” she said. “I guess that settles it. Goodbye, Medivh.”

He frowned. “You really think I’m gonna let you leave?”

She smirked, patronizing. “Like you’re gonna stop me?”

She found herself staring at the barrel of his gun before she could finish her sentence. He could see her mentally curse herself for having been so careless so as to let him get so close to the weapon. He smiled ruefully.

“Now slide your weapons over. All of them,” he added.

He watched her strip herself of all weapons, and even allowed himself to look surprised.

“That’s it?” he asked.

She shook her head. When she spoke, it was with an accent of sadness he couldn’t make sense of. “This isn’t that kind of movie, Medivh.”

He gestured for her to move with the gun. She complied and he led her through the corridors. They passed several emptied rooms, all of them shrouded in darkness. They stopped in front of one and he ordered her to open it. Just as she turned the handle, he brought the gun down hard at the back of her head, knocking her out. He dragged her inside the room and locked it from the outside. 

He allowed himself a couple of minutes to breathe, forehead pressed on the door. When he finally straightened up, he sighed softly at the thought of the woman on the other side of the door. A woman he had never thought to see again, after her mysterious disappearance. There had been police searches, but he had always thought it suspicious that no lead were investigated further. If she was telling the truth and she really was FBI, then he guessed that explained it. He walked away without a last glance, leaving the key in the lock, so she wouldn’t be able to pick it.  
 


	21. II, 6

##### PART TWENTY-ONE [USA, New York City – a motel]: et nox facta est. 

“I’m sorry, but you’re telling me you have your ex-girlfriend, who we all thought had died, locked in a room at the Stormwind, after you’ve knocked her out?”

Medivh nodded grimly.

“And she wants to help save Khadgar?”

He nodded again. This was getting more and more frustrating by the minute.

“Unbelievable,” dropped Lothar.

“It’s true,” Medivh told him. “We gotta do something. If she’s here for you, Lothar, then we gotta act fast. They might have already broken into the bar as we speak.”

Lothar shook his head. Medivh understood how shocking the news were but he didn’t dare point out to him he had not had to find out with a blade on his throat. He had not known what to do after having knocked Garona out, so he had driven to the hotel Lothar, Llane and Taria were staying at. Garona’s return was as much a mystery to him as it was to them. He had told them everything he knew, which was not much. However, they didn’t have time to think much about what it meant. Her presence was a liability.

“What do we do?” he asked, turning towards Llane and Taria, who were sitting on the bed.

They had allowed him and Lothar some space to get over the shock, and he was grateful for this. Both of them had not been as close to Garona before she disappeared, but he could not think it was easier for them to learn she was still alive. Alive, and an FBI agent.

Medivh could hardly believe it. All the way to the hotel, he could not believe he had not imagined the whole encounter. The only indication anything had happened at all was the thin cut on his throat from Garona’s blade. Now, he turned to his friends’ counsel, because he was unable to take a decision in light of recent events.

Llane and Taria exchanged a glance.

“Well, it seems obvious, doesn’t it?” said Taria, turning towards Medivh. 

The three men stared at her, confusion written on their features. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, resisting the urge to hit each one of them on the head.

“We save Khadgar,” she said matter-of-factly.

Shocked silence met her statement. Then, a single word was spoken by three voices.

“No.”

Taria choked out a laugh. “Why not?”

“You really need us to explain?” said Medivh bitterly.

“Yes! I don’t understand why you’re all standing here when we have a chance to save Khadgar.”

“Are you blind?”

Llane was more diplomatic: “She’s FBI, Taria. We can’t trust her.”

“She was also our friend once, wasn’t she?”

Medivh scoffed. “Would a friend,” he said scornfully, “disappear on you suddenly and not give you a sign of life for years?”

“I don’t know her reasons,” Taria said. “But there must be some.”

Despite how overpowered she felt, she wasn’t willing to let it go.

“If she says she wants to save Khadgar, I believe her,” she asserted.

“Why?” asked Lothar.

They all turned to him, an uncomfortable silence settling. They had all, more or less, figured out the nature that his relationship with Khadgar had taken. It seemed his voice had more weight in this conversation than any of theirs, yet he had stayed silent all along. None of them would meet his eyes, except for Taria. He read anger in them, and he didn’t understand why, anger along with determination.

“If the price is Khadgar, then we’re willing to risk our lives, is that it? We’re willing to throw everything away, Stormwind, the family, our life’s work, if it means saving Khadgar…” He shook his head. “So we’re all going to make the same mistake as Medivh did?”

Medivh started and fury overcame him suddenly. He tried to step towards Lothar but Llane stopped him, holding him securely in his arms as he struggled.

“You bastard!” he seethed.

Lothar turned his icy gaze on him, and Medivh stilled. “You really thought I was going to be grateful? I was going to congratulate you and thank you for what you did? How could you have believed for one second that you were doing me a favor when really, you did this all for yourself?”

Llane gasped and started admonishing Lothar for his words, while Taria tried to calm them both down. Their voices couldn’t reach Medivh. Tears welled up in his eyes and he began weeping tears of terrible disappointment. He was disappointed to hear Lothar’s words, to hear that he had, indeed, threw it all away for what little comfort he could take in seeing Lothar again without him feeling the same, but most of all, he was disappointed in himself. It was true. All of it. Medivh had in fact tried to convince himself all along that he was doing an incredibly selfless act, giving back his freedom to Lothar and yet had never once stopped to think if Lothar truly wanted it.

Actually, that wasn’t all that true. He had, about a month ago, thought about it, had even had confirmation that Lothar did not want him to save him. Medivh’s hands had shaken so hard when he had picked the letter from his mailbox, recognizing Anduin’s handwriting on it. The words had hurt. But Medivh had fought back against the tears that had threatened to spill, picked a pen up, and scribbled his answer at the end of the letter, not bothering with signing it. Then, he had sent the letter back where it came from. Medivh had continued with the plan as agreed with Khadgar. It was not that he had not cared, but rather that he had found he could not do as Lothar asked. He had known from the start that he wasn’t doing it for him, but suddenly he had realized he wasn’t doing it for himself either.

At one point, his interest had shifted. Medivh had carried on with the plan, but it was all for Khadgar’s sake. And Lothar didn’t know that.

“I forgave you,” Medivh spit at Lothar.

The three others stopped their bickering and turned confused faces towards him. Lothar seemed the most taken aback, the words planting themselves like three arrows through his chest.

“…What?” he murmured.

“The letter,” Medivh said, and it all slowly started to make sense. “You didn’t read it, did you? I did, I read the letter you sent me. I answered it. But you didn’t even open it, am I right?”

Lothar’s eyes widening were all the confirmation Medivh needed. Anger bubbled in him, but most of all, it was determination he now felt. In his letter, Lothar had insulted him and yelled at him about Medivh’s selfishness, somehow proven by the way Medivh had held his Garona’s disappearance against him. It was true—Medivh had held it against him, her disappearance, the months they spent searching for her, to no avail, but most importantly he had hated Lothar for having convinced him to drop the search. It was no wonder Medivh and Lothar’s relationship, which had been based on such hateful and unsteady foundations, had only gone downhill from that point forward. But Medivh had forgiven Lothar. The only problem was, Lothar had not forgiven him.

“We have to do it,” Medivh suddenly said, turning away from Lothar and towards Taria. “We have to save Khadgar.”

Shocked gasps escaped all three mouths. Taria was bewildered. If she had expected any of them to yield, Medivh had not been it. He was the one who had the most reasons not trust Garona.

“So you believe her?” Llane asked.

Medivh shook his head, eyebrows furrowed and eyes dark.

“No. Never,” he added. “But if there is a chance, even such a slim one, that we can save Khadgar, and she is that chance… Then so be it.” He fixed Lothar with a burning glare. “And you should think so too.”

Lothar swallowed uncomfortably.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You wouldn’t,” Medivh snickered.

Lothar glared at him but he ignored him, turning towards Taria.

“So how do we do it?”

She breathed in deeply. “Well, first thing to do seems to be getting her out that room you locked her in.”

Stormwind HQ was as still as Medivh had left it. It reassured him somehow—he had feared police and special agents would be roaming the place already. But seeing the place so silent and so dark almost made him believe in what Garona had told him.

Could she be honest? Could she really want to save Khadgar? It did not make any sense, and yet Medivh found himself trusting her more and more. Perhaps Lothar’s own virulent distrust was influencing Medivh, stimulating his knee-jerk reaction that made him want to contradict every word that came out of that man’s mouth. It had been years since they could hold a single civil conversation.

So maybe Medivh went along with Taria just to spite Lothar. So what? He wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t think she was right. Although he thought trusting Garona was mostly stupid, but if the price was Khadgar safe and sound, whatever Lothar thought of it, then it would be worth it.

Medivh was starting to think he had a savior complex.

What he didn’t understand was Lothar’s reaction. After having seen him so distraught when he had finally realized they weren’t coming back for Khadgar, after having heard him sob himself to sleep in a speeding car, Medivh could not make sense of Lothar’s sudden and violent reluctance about saving him. Medivh did not think he had been wrong about Lothar’s deep running affection for the kid, that much had been obvious to him as soon as he had heard Lothar speak of him. Whatever his reasons, Lothar’s attitude had saddened, and hurt Medivh, way more than his cruel words had. And Medivh did not care what Lothar thought about it: he was going to save Khadgar, no matter the cost.

He pulled into the Stormwind’s parking lot and stopped the car. He and Taria sat in silence, staring at the darkened windows of the backrooms. Taria’s gaze was inevitably drawn towards the second story’s windows, her apartment for the past ten years. He laid a hand on her thigh and addressed her a small smile.

Llane and Lothar had stayed behind at the motel. Neither of them had openly approved of the plan, Llane more out of worry then Lothar’s own hatred which made itself clearer with every minute Medivh stayed in the vicinity. Taria and Medivh had eventually left, hearts constricted and faces closed off. 

“Okay?” Medivh asked softly.

Taria smiled and nodded. “Let’s do this.”

They exited the car in symbiosis, their footsteps echoing on the asphalt. Taria inserted the key and entered first. They walked along the silent corridors until they reached the door they knew Garona to be behind. They exchanged one look before unlocking it.

Garona sat cross-legged, her back to the wall facing the door. She looked pissed.

She raised her head slowly at the sound of the door opening and she squinted into the sudden light coming in from the corridor. She had been left in total darkness for two hours. Taria shivered at the thought. She decided to go in first, showing herself to be unarmed and unthreatening, almost as if she was dealing with a cornered animal. Garona watched her come with a mean gaze.

“Are you going to kill me?” were her first words.

Taria chuckled softly. “No. We’re here to accept your offer.”

Garona gaped at her. Taria smiled.

They went to sit in the bar, the electric neon filling the room in warm yellow light. They had kept the blinds closed. It was early evening and they didn’t want to attract any attention, three people sitting alone at a table, conversing with serious faces. Medivh poured himself a whisky without asking if they wanted one too. Taria and Garona both looked at him quizzically but he ignored them. They had sat face to face across the table, while Medivh stubbornly pulled out a stool and sat at the counter, turning his back to them.

Taria rolled her eyes.

“What would it take for you to help us save Khadgar?”

Garona eyed her curiously. “You would be helping me,” she corrected. “And I’m not asking for anything.” She glanced at Medivh but he was nursing his whisky, gaze lost between two wine bottles. “You care for this boy?” she asked Taria.

“He’s one of ours,” she risked saying. Garona would understand, _he’s part of the family_ , but the assertion was innocent enough that it couldn’t be understood as a blatant admittance of being part of the mafia.

“Right. I have to tell you, he’s been badly tortured, starved and deprived of sleep. He’s been interrogated almost non-stop for the past five days and he can’t take much more.”

Garona noticed Medivh’s start.

“He hasn’t admitted to anything, amazingly,” she thought it good to add.

He had no further reaction. Garona tampered at the frustration building inside her. She was starting to really regret ever coming here. She knew she would not be welcomed with open arms, but she had had some hope that Medivh would, at least, treat her with civility.

“Anyway, if you’re really in on this, then we have to act quickly. Tomorrow.”

Taria thought for a minute, before meeting Garona’s gaze. “Alright,” she said.

“Yeah?” Garona looked surprised and relieved. “Then, here’s how it’s going to happen.”

They spent most of the night going over all the details while Medivh drank. As the sun rose above the city’s skyline, and they watched Garona drive away in a non-descript car, Medivh and Taria exchanged a determined look.

Whatever happened from now on, one thing was sure. Tomorrow, Khadgar would be free.  
 


	22. II, 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning /!\ suicide attempt
> 
> If you want to, skipping the chapter should not make the story confusing. 'Too long didnt read' in the end notes

##### PART TWENTY-TWO [USA, unknown – cell]: dieu que la vie est cruelle. 

Khadgar awoke slowly, surprised to realize he had actually fallen asleep and had not been woken up earlier. He rose carefully, half-convinced something was going to happen if he moved too fast. The cell was drenched in pale sunlight coming from the barred window. He had never noticed it for it was always night when he was in this cell. Seeing it for the first time in daylight, Khadgar cast a curious glance around. There was nothing except for the cot he was sitting on, no toilet nor sink like there were in the Violet Hold. The wall next to the door was scratched from floor to ceiling. 

Khadgar stood up and getting closer, he realized the scratches were actually words. Prisoner after prisoner had used their nails to carve out words from the concrete, leaving a mark of themselves. What had they become? Khadgar wondered. He stroked the wall with the tip of his fingers. They were all probably dead by now. As himself would be, sooner rather than later. Not soon enough, the insidious thought found its way to the forefront of his mind.

He was hungry. He was thirsty. He wanted to pee. He sat back on the bed, wondering what he should do. They would come for him at one point, anyway, and have him sit in the room again. He would see Garona and they’d talk. That was the way things went around here. Surely, today would be no different.

Yet, Khadgar knew something was off. He felt rested, for once, a sensation he hadn’t felt for days and which now felt so foreign. It was also the first time he saw the sunlight in a week, having been dragged through blind corridors and into blind rooms ever since he had been caught in the dean’s office, all those days ago in the Hold.

They should have woken him up hours ago. Something was wrong.

When he couldn’t hold it in anymore, Khadgar decided to try and see if knocking on the door would do anything.

He knocked twice, loudly, and waited.

And waited.

He thought no one would open, but the sudden noise of the lock made him start. The heavy door swung open, and a soldier glared at him.

“Bathroom?” Khadgar croaked out.

He was led through a million corridors. He thought they would never reach any kind of bathroom. Eventually, he was left in the tiny toilet stall. Above the sink was a very small glass. Khadgar watched himself as he washed his hands. His hair had grown out of control and was sticking up in greasy knots. His eyes were bloodshot, lips chapped and pale, cheeks dug in by purple circles. He looked terrible. 

Most of all, however, it was his beard which made him start when he first caught sight of himself. He had never had a lot of facial hair. It had taken ages for it to start growing and when it did, it never reached the full-beard stage which he had longed for as a teen. He had taken to shaving any hint of a beard, only keeping a slight moustache he was quite proud of. In prison, their strict regulation had forced him to get rid of the stache. But for the past week, he hadn’t had the opportunity to shave nor to wash, and the hair had taken its rightful place on his face. It made him look older, and at this moment, Khadgar saw rather than felt all that had happened to him in the past year. 

Exiting the stall, he asked if it could be arranged for him to be given the necessary items to wash up and shave. Given the soldier’s glance, he gathered it would be complicated. They led him back to the cell and closed the door. Khadgar sat, back to the door. He must have dozed off because he awoke to the sound of jingling keys and faint voices. He understood the guards must have been switching. Deciding to jump on the opportunity, Khadgar waited a few minutes before getting up.

The soldier which opened looked about ten years younger than the previous one. He gazed at him with compassion, bordering on pity, and led him to the same toilet stall a good ten minutes away from the cell. Khadgar glanced around the stall. It was rid of any unnecessary features. Breaking the glass would make too much noise, not to mention it would show. He flushed the toilet, washed his hands, and exited. On the way back, he asked the same questions to the new guard.

He didn’t answer him until they were in front of his cell. The soldier unlocked it, opened it, but he stopped him with a hand on his arm right as he was stepping in. He grabbed his chin painfully, turning it sideways and eyeing him closely.

“Shaving, hu…?” he said. Khadgar couldn’t help the shiver which ran through his back. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Khadgar was pushed inside the cell and the door closed before he regained his senses, hope blooming in his chest.

Noon came and with it, Khadgar’s meal. He was starving and devoured the stale bread and insipid soup they gave him. Eating too fast gave him a stomach ache, and he laid down on his cot. The soldiers had changed shifts again, and he patiently waited for six o’clock. He was confident the young soldier would be back and be true to his promise.

Indeed he was, and when he came back, Khadgar was wide awake. He didn’t even have to knock on the door before it opened, revealing the soldier’s face, enlightened by a sly smile.

“Follow me.”

The walk to the bathroom seemed much faster as Khadgar thought of how it would feel to be clean-shaven again. The soldier gave him the small pouch he had carried until then and let him inside the stall. Inside the pouch were a bar of dry soap, shaving cream and a razor, the old-fashioned kind. Its blade glistened in the failing electrical light. Khadgar stared at it, feeling his heart sink lower and lower in his stomach. He grabbed the blade with a shaking hand, and brought it slowly, too slowly, towards his wrist.

He started and dropped the razor which clattered in the sink. He became aware of his erratic breathing. He listened for any sound from outside, worried he might have alerted the soldier. Nothing moved. Khadgar washed his face and hair with the soap, twisting in the small space to wash away the suds from his hair. He realized too late he had no towel to dry his face. He made do with his shirt, not caring if he ended up drenched. 

He applied the shaving cream slowly, reveling in the simple task. He brought the blade to his face and carefully started shaving. He winced as the blade nicked his skin on his first try, a crimson drop on the white-covered cheek. The blade was stained with blood and he stared at it, feeling his knees wobble and his head swim. When he came into focus again, it was to knocking on the toilet’s door.

“Hey! Everything alright in there?”

He coughed, trying to make his dried-up throat work. “Yeah! Just a minute.”

He rinsed the blade and applied it to his skin, miraculously shaving the rest of his beard off without another accident. He finished washing up, and he collected the different items to put them back into the pouch.

He exited, giving the pouch back to the appreciative soldier. Khadgar felt uncomfortable under his gaze, the uneasiness sticking to his skin. He tried not to let it show on the way back to the cell. He feared for a moment that the soldier would follow him into the cell but he simply smirked before closing the door.

Khadgar collapsed onto the cot, breathing hard. His heart was beating loudly in his ears as relief washed over him. Night was falling slowly, casting the room in a soft red light. It accentuated the writings on the wall, and Khadgar gazed at them.

One in particular caught his eye. He recognized the language to be French and his heart missed a beat at the memory of his last encounter with French-speaking people. It seemed one of the prisoners which had shared this cell also shared a nationality with Khadgar’s assailants. Deciphering what was written on the wall, he realized he remembered a lot more of his French lesson than he had thought. It seemed to be some sort of poem.

_Dieu que le monde est injuste_  
_Notre lot n'est pas le leur_  
_Nous n'avons pas de fortune_  
_Mais eux, ont-ils donc un cœur ?_

_Ils sont nés dans la dentelle_  
_Pour faire l'amour et la guerre_  
_Mais nous pauvres vers de terre_  
_Notre vie est bien plus belle_

_Dieu que la vie est cruelle_

| 

“God, the world is unfair,  
our fate is not theirs.  
We don’t have any fortune,  
but them, do they even have a heart? 

They are born in lace  
to make love and war.  
But we poor earthworms,  
our life is so much more beautiful.

God, this life is so cruel.”  
  
---|---  
  
He did not know what it was from, but the words brought tears to his eyes as the reality of his fate truly hit him. He felt so alone, trapped in this cell. He had been shown kindness by the soldier but the way he had gazed at him afterwards had made him feel so vulnerable. Khadgar, for the first time in many days, wept.

Midnight came and went and soon, light flooded the space again. Khadgar had not slept at all, staring at the wall, at the moonlit writing of a desperate man. When morning came, his decision was made.

He didn’t recognize the soldier who opened the door and he feared for a half second she would refuse to lead him to the bathroom. She didn’t, and they went walking through the empty corridors, it wasn’t yet six am. As always, she let him inside the stall, closing the door behind him. He knew he had to be quick.

He slid his hand behind the sink, reaching for what he knew to be hidden there. Last night, when he had finished shaving, he had hidden the razor on a whim. He figured he could need it if he ever tried to escape, or at least that was what he had told himself. This morning, the razorblade shining in his hands, he knew he had never planned to escape.

His hand shook violently and he had to keep a firm grip on the blade, his fingernails digging painfully into his palms. He sat on the toilet seat so as not to fall down as his legs refused to hold him up anymore. He rolled up his sleeves, uncovering his forearms.

The soldier started banging on the door, and he could hear her shout.

“What’s going on in there? Are you taking a shit or what? Come out!”

The banging was getting more and more distant, the voice almost inaudible. Soon, he wouldn’t hear it anymore.

The soldier kept hitting the door, however. When she tried opening it, she realized it was blocked by a heavy weight on the inside. She cursed, yelling at the convict to move so she could open the door. The noise she was doing attracted more than one curious bystander. She shouted at them to help. The small crowd suddenly parted as a woman arrived.

“What the hell is going on in there?” she demanded to know.

“He wanted to pee! I led him here, but he’s blocking the door!”

The woman—an agent, the soldier realized—cursed and tried opening the door herself. When realizing it wouldn’t open further, she turned towards the soldier.

“Push as hard as you can, I’m going to go through.”

The door could only open a crack, but the agent was very slim, and she managed to slip inside. The soldier could only hear her chocked out gasp, and sounds of shuffling. Suddenly, the door swung open under her weight, and the soldier stumbled inside. She stepped into something liquid and sticky. The agent had already dragged the unconscious convict outside in the corridor. There were yells and two soldiers came forward to help. 

The soldier looked down at her feet, heart sinking slowly. The ground was drenched in blood. She gagged at the realization, and she turned to dry-heave above the toilet.

The agent watched her with a pitying rictus. She was shouting to the people around. She walked away quickly, followed by the two soldiers who had hefted the man up and were now carrying him away.

“Who left him in possession of a blade!” she heard her yell. “Find out! Now!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is wondering: the lyrics are from the 1998 French musical based on Victor Hugo's _Notre Dame de Paris_. Here is a link to the song (with English subtitles): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-5vdl9AGecc
> 
>  **TLDR:** Desperate to find a way to save Lothar and co and sure he won't be able to keep his mouth shut for long, Khadgar tries to kill himself before Garona can make him talk. Garona arrives just in time though to quickly bring him to a doctor.


	23. II, 8

PART TWENTY-THIRD [USA, New York City – the motel]: un hombre sincero.

Anduin was silent. He had not talked ever since Taria and Medivh had left the room, and Llane was getting increasingly annoyed with him. Every attempt at conversation had been met with the same silent treatment, caused by Light-knew-what, but Llane was not about to be the victim of it anymore. He stood up from the low armchair he had sprawled on, making Anduin start by the suddenness of the action.

It had been hours. They had not moved, they had not talked. Llane could not stay one minute longer in this motel room.

“I’m going for a walk. You’re welcome to join.”

Anduin simply stared at him. Llane muttered a, “Figures,” and left.

He walked for hours throughout the city, feeling jittery and full of a restless agitation. With every minute that passed and he had no news from Taria, his doubts and fears grew, transforming into wild ugly beasts in his mind, eating away at his thoughts. He did not understand Taria’s decision to trust Garona. He did not understand Medivh’s. From where he was standing, Garona’s sudden reappearance could only mean bad news. Who disappears for a decade and then turns up without a warning right after you have freed your friend from prison? It was insane, and she should not be trusted, for any reason.

Llane was pissed. But he had long ago given up on having any kind of authority above Taria, not when she got into one of her moods. She was stubborn, and he loved this, but it happened way too often that that stubbornness put her in danger and nothing he could say or do could change anything. Instead, he had to sit to the side while she did what she wanted, worrying sick and cursing himself. If anything happened to her… He put a quick end to this train of thought.

He realized his walk had brought him back to the Stormwind. He wondered for a minute if he should go there, pick up what little they had left there. It was all pretty useless, but held some sentimental value and Llane hated to leave it behind. He turned in the street but stopped in his track. There was yellow tape all around the perimeter of the bar, and suits were roaming the place, coming in and out of his bar. 

He ducked behind a car, hoping no one had seen him. He quickly walked away, heart shattering and mind racing. Why would the cops have invaded Stormwind? What did they hope to find there? He congratulated himself on having cleared the bar a few days prior, and mourned the loss of the few personal items he had wanted to pick up. Mostly, he was grateful for the text Taria had sent him last night, informing him that she and Medivh were sleeping at Lothar’s apartment, Garona having gone back to Dalaran. That was all it had said, but Llane had had to be satisfied with that.

The sun was rising when he got Taria’s call. He was just about to turn around and head back to the motel where he had left Anduin when he felt his phone vibrate. With one glance at the caller ID, his stomach pirouetted and he answered as fast as he could.

“Hello? Is everything alright, Ria?”

“ _Yes, yes, I’m fine,_ ” she told him, and his heart sank. “ _We’re all fine,_ ” she added, realizing her mistake.

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to reign in his worry.

“So what happened?” he asked her.

“ _Llane,_ ” she started, and just like that he knew he was not going to like it, and he knew he could do nothing to prevent whatever Taria had set her mind to do, “ _we’re going to do it. We’re going to follow Garona’s plan._ ”

His anger was short-lived, as he immediately tampered it down. He knew it was useless. Instead, he was filled with an empty desperation which left him feeling so cold.

“Which is?”

“ _Saving Khadgar. We’re going to Dalaran. What will you do?_ ”

He resisted asking her more details, saying that didn’t answer his question at all, and what exactly had they planned, was she kidding him?

“We’re going to the Gilneas,” he told her instead. He could picture her nodding on the other side of the line, agreeing with him. 

“ _Llane,_ ” she said. He closed his eyes tightly, already knowing what she was about to say. “ _Just, be careful out there, ok?_ ” He nodded, forgetting momentarily she couldn’t see him. “ _And don’t wait for us. As soon as you can, get the hell out of there. You hear me?_ ”

Even though his throat was constricting painfully and his eyes burnt, Llane agreed. “Same to you,” he said.

They talked for a bit more, Llane informing her about what he had just seen at the Stormwind. They bid each other good bye, and it felt like an adieu. Llane began walking back to the motel.

The door was opened when he arrived. Llane sprinted to their room, barging in, casting a quick look around to confirm that it was empty. Anduin was gone. He turned around, mind racing as he began to list everywhere he could have gone, and where he should begin looking for him. He didn’t have to look for long.

Anduin was standing at the door, holding two coffees.

Llane couldn’t help a sigh of relief.

“Never do this to me again,” he ordered Anduin, putting both hands on his shoulders as Anduin stared at him quizzically.

“You left me alone to begin with,” Anduin answered, voice laced with irony.

Llane glared at him. They closed the door and settled at the table, both of them taking careful sips of the steaming beverage.

“So. What’s on the agenda?”

“I was thinking of going to see Genn.”

Anduin nodded, and Llane saw his sister.

“You think he’ll receive us?”

“Only one way to know.”

He could see by Anduin’s pinched face his own worry was shared. So much had happened in just a few hours, neither of them knew how to make sense of it. Llane realized it could only be worse for Anduin. As much as he could have gotten used to the idea of being free, ever since he had met Khadgar, actually being it was probably hard to process. Especially as this freedom came with a heavy price, Khadgar still being locked up Light knew where.

Llane laid a hand atop Anduin’s, bringing these bright blue eyes to stare at him.

“It’s not your fault,” he thought good to say. When he saw Anduin’s eyes fill with tears quickly controlled, and his face close off, Llane regretted his words instantly.

When Anduin stood up, not even looking at him, Llane understood that there was so much he didn’t know.

“Well, are we going?” Anduin said.

Llane nodded even though Anduin couldn’t see him, turning his back at him. He stood also, stretching out the knots in his back, wincing.

“Getting old?” he heard. When he turned to glare at Anduin in the threshold, he was already gone.

They walked to the Gilneas. It was a bar, just like Stormwind was, except its front window indicated to any passersby that only clients of a certain social standing would be greeted with any kind of civility. While the Stormwind actually acted as a bar, and a quite popular one, which Llane prided himself for, the Gilneas held that certain aura of being reserved for a particular and specific clientele. As it was, regular people avoided it, and criminals were the only ones to ever push its doors.

When Llane and Anduin entered, the front room was empty. A deadly silence met them, and they exchanged a look. They both reached for their handguns.

“Well, well, well,” the voice stopped them short. Shivers ran down their spine as they turned around slowly and were met with the sight of Genn Greymane, owner of the Gilneas, lounging on a sofa, martini glass precariously held in one hand. His other hand hung from the arm of the sofa, leisurely twirling his gun. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?”

Llane tried to stay calm, as he knew Anduin was glaring at Genn with all the intensity he could muster. Showing animosity would not help their current situation.

“Genn,” he greeted. “Long time no see,” he tried a small smile which turned out to be more of a smirk. It was answered by a steel face and a dangerous narrowing of the eyes. Llane swallowed. “We were hoping we could discuss.”

Genn stood up, and Llane had to resist the urge to take a step back. The man prowled towards them, his entire being exulting strength and danger. He stopped inches away from Anduin, staring him down. Anduin met him with a level gaze. 

“And what exactly made you think you’d be welcome here, _traitor_?”

Anduin started at the word while Llane only squinted.

“Traitor, is it now?” Llane decided to intervene. “Always the loyal, no-questions-asked mutt, are you, Greymane?”

Genn actually growled at him. Llane let out a humorless laugh, trying to hide the fear he was feeling. He knew what he was risking when coming here. He had hoped, for a moment, that their friendship would prevail over Genn’s loyalty to the family, but it apparently had not. It was not surprising, given their ‘friendship’ could barely be called as such, Llane and Genn not having seen each other in over a decade. They had never been very close, but back when the Stormwind was barely even an idea, Genn had helped them feel welcome in the mafia. 

“What do you want?” Genn asked, eyes still fixed on Anduin. They were so close, Anduin could feel his breath on his face. When he didn’t answer, Genn swiveled around to glare at Llane.

“Two things,” Llane said, “firstly, I’d like to know what the family has told you about us, and then if you’d help us.”

“Help for what?” the man barked. It took everything in Anduin not to flinch.

“Getting out of the country,” Llane continued. “A car, money, IDs, everything we need to make it to the border and across.”

There was a silence as Genn assessed the situation, eyes set on Llane’s face. He did not spare Anduin a single glance.

“Follow me,” came the order after painful minutes. 

Genn led them to the kitchen. The place was deserted, yet a pleasant scent hung in the air, as if someone had been cooking and had left the room hastily. Anduin and Llane proceeded with caution, fingers itching to grab their guns. But a nagging feeling at the back of their head told them that would be signing a death sentence, the feeling of being watched. Greymane’s hounds were on the prowl, watching their every move from corners unseen.

The kitchen was huge, bigger than Stormwind’s, and Genn led them through it, until they finally reached the reason for the smell: at the very end, working on a lit stove, was a young man. He looked to be about sixteen years old. Llane cocked an eyebrow at his sight. He had never seen this boy before.

“Son,” Genn said, and the young man started, distracted from his focused cooking. His eyes widened as he realized they had company. He washed his hands, drying them on his apron before offering a handshake to Llane.

“Liam Greymane,” he introduced himself naturally, as if his father brought in unknown suited men into the kitchen every day.

Llane accepted the handshake, introducing himself and Anduin.

“You’re with Stormwind,” Liam immediately remarked, eyes narrowing into two slits. He looked very much like his father in this moment.

“Yes,” Anduin snapped at him.

“This is my son. He’ll be taking over Gilneas after my death.”

The statement seemed to upset Liam, who turned to his father and said curtly: “Don’t, dad.”

Llane smiled nervously.

“Glad to make your acquaintance. Genn?”

“Yes, come,” he opened a door to a darkened corridor. “You too, son.”

They relocated to a small office, with wood on the walls and a comfy carpet on the floor. The whole space was richly furnished. Genn stood behind a heavy desk while Liam stationed himself by the door, effectively trapping Anduin and Llane.

They turned towards Genn.

“I should kill you right now,” he said.

Llane shrugged. “Perhaps. Will you?”

This earned him a bellowing laugh from the older man. “No,” he sobered up, “I won’t.” Then, he turned to look at Liam. “See, son, these two men have betrayed the family. However, and despite all that I may think about them and their despicable actions, I’ve received word this morning that no harm shall be done to them, and that any help they required must be freely and most hastily given to them. They ask for us to help them get to the border, so we do. You can thank the bosses,” he told the two men, “because they just saved your sorry asses.”

Llane and Anduin exchanged a surprise look. Llane crooked an eyebrow. “Really?”

Genn did not look too pleased with this fact. “Really.”

“So you’ll help us?” Llane asked, bewildered.

“Yes,” and if gazes could kill, Llane would have died on the spot. “But,” both Llane and Anduin’s stomach fell to their feet, “you should know if I had been in charge, you would both be dead already.”

Anduin stepped forward suddenly. “Save it,” he snapped. “We don’t want to hear it. You’ll help us, that’s great, very kind of you. But if you’d rather we leave now, say so and you’ll never have to hear about us again. We need someone we can trust right now, and not your passive-aggressive comments about how we’re betraying or whatever.”

“So you deny it?” Genn asked.

“We’re motherfucking criminals, Greymane, I don’t think we’re in the right spot to be talking of righteousness and god damn loyalty.”

“You’ve betrayed the family, Lothar.”

They were face to face now, one on each side of the desk, leaning into each other and it was almost as if lightning sparked in between their gazes.

“Like hell I have. And if so, what do you care? I know you’ve always been the loyal watchdog but tell me, what has the family ever really done for you? What could possibly justifies your blind and unequivocal faith in them, hu?”

Genn chuckled darkly.

“They gave us security. Just like they gave you. And that security came with rules, rules which you broke, which you’re breaking right now standing in front of me when you should be locked up for life. I get you need someone you can trust, but the same can be said about me. And how exactly do you want me to trust you?”

Anduin growled. The tension was building to unbearable heights. Llane exchanged a worried look with Genn’s son. They needed to intervene before the two men ripped each other’s head off.

“What’s this security you’re talking about?” Anduin said. “Security, that’s all well and good, but you’re still a criminal, still head deep into one of the biggest web of criminal activity of the United States, targeted by every other mafia groups in the country along with every cops and agents, looking to put you in jail. Tell me, Greymane, how exactly are you safe these days, when every night you go out and shoot some people in a dark alley because you’ve been told to, when police are stationed all around your own fucking bar waiting for you to slip up and show yourself as you really are? A plain, honest and ever-so-faithful gun-for-hire.”

There was a weighted silence. Llane held his breath, watching Genn carefully, but he did not move, face hidden in the shadows. None of them dared say a word more.

“You shouldn’t talk like that,” Genn eventually said. “The family is the only reason why your brains aren’t splattered across my wall right now.”

Anduin took a step back, face torn. He hadn’t planned his outburst but had found himself unable to stop himself once he had started talking.

“Liam,” Genn suddenly barked. His son started, standing to attention. “You’ll do what these men require. A car, IDs, whatever. But I want them out of the country by midnight.”

“Yes, sir.”

Llane took it as their cue to leave and he and Anduin filed out the door, which Liam held open for them.

“And, Liam?” they heard Genn call.

“Yes?”

“Don’t disappoint me.”

Llane’s eyebrows shot up, appalled by the words. Liam simply nodded, seemingly unaffected. Llane had a lot of opinions about bringing your kid up to take your place in a criminal organization. Actually, Llane had a lot of opinions about having kids when you were yourself part of a criminal organization. But that was beside the point—what Llane could not stand was parents who treated their kids like they owed them something and their kid had something to prove to them. He had never much liked Genn, that he had never met is sixteen-year-old son in all twelve years he had known him attested to that, but now, he loathed him.

Liam turned towards them, and he could see by the way he looked at them that his opinion of them was not better than his father’s, if not even worse. 

“If you would follow me,” he enjoined them.

Llane was tired of being led through the Gilneas’s corridors by a Greymane. He was starting to feel claustrophobic as he realized he was probably unable to find his way out now. He walked behind Liam, alongside Anduin. Voice pitched low, he said to Anduin:

“So, what’s gotten into you? You’ve been in a foul mood ever since last night.”

Anduin’s face was somber. “I really can’t think of anything that would explain it,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Llane pursed his lips. “You’re worried.”

“Shut up, Llane.”

It sounded like a plea, so Llane did shut up. They stopped in front of a door which Liam unlocked and gestured for them to go through. The room had not windows, and Llane sighed. It was furnished with comfortable-looking chairs, a pool table and a mahogany counter whose closed doors hid its content. 

Liam turned towards them.

“It’ll take a while before your IDs are ready. I’ll provide you with a car, guns, money if you need. You can either wait here or I’ll show you the door, but be back before three.”

From the clock that stood on the counter, Llane gathered it was just after nine.

“We’ll stay here,” he heard Anduin say.

It would be a long wait.  
 


	24. II, 9

##### PART TWENTY-FOUR [USA, Dalaran County – the road]: stop looking start seeing. 

“What? Seriously? Holy sh—okay, okay, yeah, we’re on the road. Medivh’s driving, you idiot. Yeah, hmm. We will. ‘Drive safe,’ yourself. Ok, bye.”

Taria hung up, face gloomy. Medivh cast her a curious glance.

“Llane,” she said in way of explaining.

“I figured that,” he told her, amused smile dancing at the corner of his lip.

She smiled too, tiredly, and he realized suddenly that she had left her husband and brother behind to follow a woman no one had heard of for years, into what was, for all they knew, a trap. He felt a rush of affection for her and would have pulled up on the side of the road to embrace her if they weren’t already late.

Garona had called them from a private number to the burner phone she had given them. It had been six a.m., and she had awakened them from their slumber, and asked where they were. When told they were still in New York, she cursed and ordered them to hop into a car and get to Dalaran as fast as possible. She sounded agitated.

They had complied, movements jittery from lack of sleep and stress seeping into their veins like poison.

“The Stormwind is under surveillance, no way can they approach it. We still had some stuff there but it’ll have to stay. Nothing of great importance, it was just, silly stuff, some pictures, those plates my parents—“ 

Her voice choked up, and she turned away, facing the window. Medivh could see a single tear fall on her cheek. Taria cleared her throat.

“Anyway, Llane said they had to get out of town as soon as possible. They’re swinging by the Gilneas and then they’ll be heading West.”

“Why West?”

“They’re trying for the Canadian border.”

“Wouldn’t North be faster then?”

“North is where they expect us to go. The borders are going to be closed anyway, but we’ll have a greater chance through the West.”

“Right.”

They fell silent, eyes focused on the road getting swallowed up by their wheels, disappearing behind them. The silence hung heavy between them, weighted down by their apprehension, doubts and fears that neither dared vocalize. All the questions they could have asked would have been met with the same unknowing gaze as their own, anyway.

Taria thought of her car, a red one, small and effective, not fit for long travels, roaming the streets of New York from the motel to the Gilneas, a bar held by a colleague and a friend, Genn Greymane. He was the liaison between the family, whom Taria had never met, and their people in New York. He would have already heard about the Stormwind’s fall and probably received orders from higher-up. He would not like what Llane and Lothar had to tell him, that they were running away, going through the Canadian border and hoping to escape, not just the cops or theFBI, but the whole of the Irish mafia. Taria did not hold much hope the family would want to protect them after what they had pulled. If the government didn’t kill them, then a trigger happy mobster would, looking for a juicy reward. 

All that she hoped for, was for their friendship with Genn to prevail over his loyalty to the family. She addressed a silent prayer to the Light she had trouble believing in these days.

Medivh thought of Khadgar. He wondered where he was, right now, if he was with Garona, locked up in that room she had told them about. Guilt settled deeper in his guts.

“Where did Garona say she was expecting us?”

“She didn’t. She said she’d give us a call.”

Taria hummed. Once again, Medivh wondered what Taria thought to be doing, trusting Garona to save Khadgar. They hadn’t had the chance to discuss it. He found it incomprehensible how Taria had insisted to help Khadgar, a kid she had only met once, as far as he knew anyway. He had gathered she had been monitoring him, making sure nothing happened to him after the fiasco that had been their encounter with the Corsican mob. He wondered what she had seen, and what she still saw, in Khadgar.

They arrived in Dalaran as the sun was rising. Medivh was suddenly reminded of how, a week ago, he had made the exact same trip, in vastly different circumstances. But seeing the sunrise above Dalaran’s numerous skyscrapers, he felt a rush of déjà-vu which settled uncomfortably in him. He drove right past the bar he had stopped by, through the city, and they drove a few miles ahead, in the direction of the prison, until they found a motel. They booked a room, pretending to be a happy couple on a road trip across the United States. Taria could do the most perfect Texan accent, and Medivh let her do all the talking. Passing through Dalaran, they saw too many uniformed officers for it to have been a coincidence. The whole town was on alert.

The motel manager seemed blasé and gave them the key more out of an effort to shut Taria up than out of amiability. Medivh couldn’t hold it against him. Taria was a force to be reckoned with. The hour they spent waiting in the motel was one of the longest in Medivh’s life. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but be reminded of those times he waited for his mother, often for days, without a word, without a sign, and without any idea when or if she would come back.

He could tell, by Taria’s pinched features, her thoughts weren’t that much more pleasant than his.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked eventually, breaking the silence which was strangling them.

She turned towards him, her haunted eyes clearing up slowly, as if he had awakened her from a dream.

“Anduin and Llane should be at the Gilneas, by now.”

He stood up and walked towards her, sitting beside her on the bed. She leaned against him and he held her close.

“I am sure they’ll make it,” he told her.

“Don’t lie to me. I hate that about men.”

He chuckled but had to admit it was true. He was lying. So much could go wrong before they crossed the border. The FBI must have had already alerted the Canadians that a fugitive would try to cross, anyway. The chances for Lothar to get out alive were slim, to say the least.

“What about us, hu?” Taria mused. “Will we make it? Or aren’t we just running towards our ruin?”

“I don’t know, Taria. I honestly don’t know.”

The phone rang. They both started, practically running to pick up the phone. Neither of them cared enough to wonder why it was the hotel’s phoneline, and not Medivh’s cell. Medivh brought the receiver to his ear.

“Yes?” he asked.

Taria stood close to him, trying to pick up what was being said on the other end. Garona’s voice came to them distorted and hard to understand. She must have been using a scrambler.

“ _Smith is_ not _a good false identity. Anyway, get rid of your IDs as soon as you check out. I hope you’ve got others._ ”

Taria and Medivh exchanged a surprised look.

“What the fuck, Garona?” Medivh asked.

“ _I have a favor to ask of you. You know people in Dalaran, I presume?_ ”

Taria opened her mouth to answer but she didn’t have time.

“ _How good are they at making things blow up?_ ”

Taria’s jaw closed with a loud clack. “Very,” she answered.

“ _Great. You’re in room 6?_ ”

There was a knock on the door. Taria went to open and Garona swept in, closing the door and the curtains in one swift movement.

“OK,” she said as they both gaped at her. “Slight change of plans. Khadgar being transferred now is not going to happen. I need someone to blow up the HQ.”

“What?” Medivh exclaimed.

“Sure,” said Taria. “Which part?”

“Try to avoid any essential part of it, I don’t want to have to worry about losing half our paperwork. It’s kind of valuable.”

“We’re criminals, Garona, how can you think the FBI losing valuable paperwork isn’t exactly what we would want?”

“Fair enough.”

Garona was out of breath, constantly looking behind her back at the closed curtains.

“OK,” she said, “ok, fine. Blow up the main building. Khadgar’s not in it but it’ll mean we will have to evacuate. You’ll arrive in one of our vans and I’ll take him to you. You drive. Don’t worry about anything else, just drive. Here are FBI badges, you’re going to need them.”

They received the badges, both of them observing them curiously.

“You look worried,” said Medivh then. “Is something going on?”

Garona sighed. “I’m planning a heist. How could I not be worried?”

“You look pretty well prepared,” he interjected. She was hiding something from them.

“Something came up,” she admitted, face somber. “I can’t give you details. But it’s made saving Khadgar just that much more complicated.”

Medivh wanted to push but Taria stopped him with a look. He could see the gears working inside her head.

“We’ll do whatever it takes,” Taria said. “I’ll contact our men.”

“Don’t use your phone,” Garona stopped her.

Taria glanced between her and Medivh, taken aback. She worried at her lip, hesitating.

“I’ll have to go see them, then. Can I leave the both of you alone?”

Medivh moved to stop her, but Garona quickly opened the door, glancing outside, before gesturing for Taria to go.

“Be quick,” she adjoined her.

And with that, Taria was gone.

Medivh growled. Garona sent him a glare which he answered in the like. He figured Taria would be gone for at least an hour, and took out a bottle of liquor out of the mini bar. 

“You’re going to get drunk? Now?”

He didn’t even bother glancing at her as he sprawled on the bed, opening the bottle and taking a long swing. The alcohol burnt down his throat and he closed his eyes. Maybe if he didn’t see her, he could pretend she wasn’t here. 

For twenty blissful minutes, she was silent. 

“You’re right not to trust me, you know,” she said suddenly.

Her voice had been barely above a whisper, so that for a moment, he thought he hadn’t heard well. He stared wide-eyed at her. Her face was closed-off, eyes holding something unfathomable.

“After all, I did disappear on you. Without a word, without a trace…”

Garona stared in the distance. He could see the strain in her jaw, the slight trembling of her bottom lip. He sat up on the bed, gripping the edge tightly.

“I am sorry, Med.”

“Don’t,” he stopped her. “Don’t call me that.”

He could feel himself getting flustered as he had back at the Stormwind and feared he would start crying. He couldn’t look weak.

“I wish it could have gone differently,” she was telling him. “But there was no other way. I had no choice. Medivh, please look at me.”

He did, and she was so open and honest, eyes welling up with unshed tears.

“I had to disappear. I couldn’t contact you, tell you I was alive, and you know that. You know that.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he told her.

“Liar,” she smiled bitterly, a small and heart-breaking smile. 

He stayed silent, using all his strength not to get moved by her tears. Don’t listen to her, a voice inside him screamed.

“How do you think you managed to survive ten years, you and your stupid bar? The whole thing screams mafia. If they sent me ten years ago, don’t you think they would have brought you down by now? I’m the reason you’re still here. I cast a doubt, saying there was no proof of any criminal activity around here, just a simple bar. I protected you.”

“Shut up,” he said.

“I fell in love with you so I decided to spare you, to save you. I went against all of my principles, all my duties, I betrayed myself and every reason I became an agent in the first place, for you. Do you have any idea what kind of honor bringing you down could have brought me?” Her voice rose and rose until she was practically yelling. “I could be big in the FBI by now. Instead I stalled, I hindered, I lied and delayed investigation as much as possible without bringing too much attention to myself. When we got Lothar, I thought you were lost. But somehow nobody made the connection between him, the Stormwind, and you. But then,” she laughed humorlessly, “you had to save him, didn’t you?”

He was shaking with contained fury.

“So when they put Khadgar in custody, they called me. I could have broken him on the very first day. One day, and all of your precious transactions, carefully built-up connections, the whole of your lifework would have come tumbling down. Instead he’s been sitting in that chair in front of me for five days. Why do you think that is, Medivh?”

What the hell was Taria doing? What could possibly take so much time?

“I gave you the time to run. Gave Lothar time to get as far away as possible so that the government may never find him. And then I came to you. So that you could save Khadgar. Do you understand, now, how much I’ve sacrificed, for _you_? And you still don’t trust me. Do you hate me, Medivh? Do you wish I were dead? Do you wish you could kill me?”

The door opened and Medivh yelled.

“Shut up!”

Garona fell silent, a strangely pained look on her face. Medivh wanted to grab her and shake her until she stopped looking so damn guilty. 

Taria cleared her throat. She stared wide-eyed at him, then at Garona, and back at him. Her brow furrowed and she set an icy glare on both of them.

“If you’re done here, we’re ready to go.”  
 


	25. II, 10

##### PART TWENTY-FIVE [USA, Dalaran City – outside the FBI headquarters]: pas le temps. 

The Proudmoore held a private postal company, called _Kul Tiras_ , mostly used by the Irish mafia for drug trafficking. Every month, the Stormwind bar would receive boxes upon boxes with the Kul Tiras logo on them. Taria knew of their loyalty to the family, which ran deeper than with any other branch she knew of. But she knew she could bet on their leader’s, Daelin, friendship with Anduin, which began many years ago, before any of them could even imagine that they would ever be part of a criminal group. She had not seen Daelin in years but he recognized her right away. After she explained the gist of what was happening, he immediately jumped on the opportunity to deal such a blow to the FBI. 

“You’re not afraid of retaliation?” she asked, surprised.

He grinned madly. “Bring it on.”

They waited until the sun was down. Taria and Medivh were to wait until Daelin gave them the signal.

Taria felt jittery and more claustrophobic with every second spent in the car Garona had instructed them to steal. It was a FBI van, supposed to gain them entrance into the compound even when it would have been put under red alert, all the buildings in the process of being evacuated, and any and all comings and goings checked and verified. Taria clutched at the fake FBI badges Garona had given them, and caught herself praying to the Light that everything would go as planned, for Khadgar’s sake, for Medivh’s, for everyone’s sake.

In the closed space of the stolen van, they waited for the signal. Daelin and his men were supposed to have entered the FBI compound already, a feat he had assured her was not as dangerous as it sounded. She doubted it but she knew she had no right to doubt him—if Daelin had thought for a second he would not be able to pull it off, he would never have accepted to help. He had seemed a little too eager to her, although she figured it was just the excitement of what was being prepared. Days in the FBI-owned town were, he told her, quite dull. With orders to lay low so as not to attract any kind of attention from the government, the Kul Tiras members were just aching for something exciting to happen. Taria had provided that to them.

She pictured them breaking into the FBI compound, however they had intended to do that, disabling any and all alarms, taking care of stray agents crossing their paths before any of them could do anything. She knew most of Daelin’s men were highly trained professional thieves—this was their element. They knew what they were doing, and they were the best at it. Why, then, was she so stressed?

Silence reigned in their car, Taria wringing her hands and Medivh sitting stock still, eyes staring straight ahead at the empty street in which they were parked, hands on the wheel. They had not talked about whatever had happened between him and Garona in that hotel room. Taria had deemed it wiser not to ask, and Medivh had not breached the subject. Garona had left them almost immediately, stating that if she remained away for any longer, people would start noticing her absence. Taria did not doubt that Medivh was, at this time, still thinking back on what had transpired during the time it had taken Taria to put Daelin in the loop. She wanted to reach out to him but she didn’t know how.

Taria could not help but feel as if the situation was getting out of her hands: Garona appearing, them being called over to Dalaran, reaching out to Kul Tiras, everything seemed to come together too quickly, jumping from one thing to another too fast, and she could not shake the nagging feeling at the back of her head. She should feel grateful things were going so well, that they didn’t have to fight to get the help they needed to break Khadgar out. If it kept going, Khadgar would be free before dawn, and the three of them would already be halfway to the border, with the sun rising to their left. Nevertheless, she kept thinking everything was going a little _too_ well.

Taria’s cellphone started ringing at the same time the building exploded.

Medivh and Taria started, violently brought out of their respective thoughts. Medivh did not waste a second, already turning the ignition as Taria was still processing. She snatched her cellphone as Medivh skidded down the street, not caring if they attracted attention anymore. Time was of the essence, and they would be damned if they wasted any more of it.

Though jostled around by Medivh’s less than controlled driving, Taria managed to catch a glimpse of the caller ID, frowning when she saw the unknown number. The phone escaped her grasp at a particularly sharp turn, falling with a dull thump on the car’s floor. Taria cried out as her head hit the window.

“Medivh, what in the Light?”

He barked out a short, “Sorry!” and kept going, eyes drilled on the road in front of them. They were already at the compound’s door, and Taria realized they were surrounded with identical vans, all of them conveniently missing a license plate. All at once, Garona’s plan took on its full meaning. All that was left was pray for the IDs she gave them to work.

The control at the gate seemed to not be as thorough as one would expect, each van being allowed entrance fast so as to give place to yet another one. Soon enough, Taria was handing their permits to the soldier stationed there. She noticed his haphazard expression, obviously overwhelmed by the situation. She gave him a small smile, hoping to reassure him. She thought he was going to start bawling. He let them in. But going in wasn’t so much of a problem as coming _out_.

The smoke escaping from the main building filled the whole atmosphere with its thick smell. Taria couldn’t help but cough as they got closer and closer to the source of the fire, started by the explosion. What the bombs had not destroyed would surely be gone by the time the firefighters managed to put out the fire. People were everywhere: soldiers, agents, even what looked to be civilians, roaming the opened area of the carpark. A steady stream was coming out from every building, heading the farthest away as they could from the burning compound. Taria was dumbfounded by the sheer number of people.

Through her astonishment, however, something odd caught her eye.

“Medivh,” she said, her voice strained. “Medivh, look.”

He didn’t answer her, gaze hard and focused as he tried to find his way amongst the masses and the numerous vans. He did not seem to have heard her. She grabbed his arm, jostling him. He turned a startled look towards her, and she was momentarily stunned by the sheer terror his eyes held.

“Medivh. I need you to focus, come on. Are you alright?”

He nodded numbly. 

“Look,” she then enjoined him, turning to gaze out of her window towards the main building. “Something’s wrong.”

He stared at her, lost.

“No one’s coming out of _that_ building,” she explained. “It’s as if no one was in there when it exploded.”

“But,” he finally spoke, “that’s impossible. It’s the main building, that’s where everyone should have been.”

“And they can’t have all died already,” she added grimly.

“There’s the green door,” he warned her.

He took a careful turn, driving to stop the van right in front of the door Garona had told them to wait for her. Medivh didn’t turn off the engine, uncertain what to do now.

“Do we wait?” Taria asked, before berating herself: “That’s the kind of things we’re supposed to know _beforehand_.”

Out of frustration, she punched the dashboard. It was mere seconds before Medivh slapped her shoulder, pointing towards the door. It opened with a bang, revealing a flock of white blouses pushing out a stretcher. Taria’s eyes widened as she recognized Garona amongst the doctors and nurses. She was yelling out orders, inaudible in the general chaos of sounds which resounded across the parking lot. Shock fully settled when the face of the body lying on the stretched got into view.

“Khadgar,” she gasped.

“Dammit!” yelled Medivh.

Garona came to Taria’s window, mentioning her to roll it down. Her gaze was hard, as if daring them to say anything that might compromise their mission. Although it took everything in her not to lash out at her, Taria calmly faced her.

“Are you ready to take him?”

Taria nodded silently.

“Open the doors,” Garona ordered to the nurses.

“But he’s got to take an ambulance!” one of them objected. “He needs a drip!”

“What did I just say?” Garona growled. “Get him in the van.”

Taria could just see enough to see her take out her gun and point it at the nurse. She paled and rushed to open the doors. Medivh and Taria observed from the side mirrors as they hefted Khadgar and slid him into the back, the van dipping slightly. There was a small window connecting the front to the back of the van but it was closed and they couldn’t see through. All they could do was to listen in order to gather what was going on between Garona and the caregivers. 

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot all of you.”

There were a few whimpers and even a cry. In his side mirror, Medivh watched as one of the nurses, a tall man, tried to put himself in between Garona and a thin woman in a nursing uniform, a courageous but futile gesture. For a moment, Medivh wondered if Garona would really go through with her threat if they didn’t obey her.

“He needs someone with medical knowledge with him. You can’t take him alone,” Medivh recognized the voice as that of the nurse that had spoken earlier.

Garona seemed to hesitate for a second, before the unmistakable sound of the doors closing resounded.

“Watch me,” she said before the doors slammed shut.

The inside window slid open suddenly, startling both Taria and Medivh.

“Drive!” came the short order.

Medivh pressed the accelerator. The van lurched forward, skidding on the asphalt. Several soldiers shouted and Taria could see more than one of them getting alerted. They were going too fast. They were foiled.

“Faster, Med!” she shouted, reaching into the glove box and taking out a small revolver.

“I’m trying,” he gritted back, knuckles going white around the wheel.

They noticed the military van following them at the same time. Having not rolled her window back up, Taria leaned out, trying to aim for its wheels. A bullet flew in her direction, missing her by an inch. She fell back into her seat, breath cut off.

“Fuck,” Medivh growled.

They could hear thumps and grunts in the back. Suddenly, Garona’s face was back at the tiny window, seething.

“You fool, do you want to get killed?”

“You,” Medivh didn’t hesitate before yelling, “shut up!”

Garona was taken aback and she caught herself, adding in a quieter voice.

“Well, at least _try_ to drive more carefully, I’ve got a stretcher with me back there!”

Gunshots resonated again. They were coming up to the gate. Thankfully, no vans were obstructing the space, as none was even allowed to go out yet. Soldiers were posted at the gate, weapons at the ready. 

“Watch out,” Taria cried out as she saw them cocking their guns up.

“Brace yourself!” shouted Medivh.

He showed no signs of slowing down as they neared the barrage of soldiers. A flare of bullets scattered on the bumper and the side doors, sounding like oversized drop of rains. The crushing sound of the van hitting the gate drowned out any other sound. The gate was flown meters to the side as their van broke through, its passengers desperately hanging on. 

Taria had ducked when Medivh had shouted and she tentatively raised her head again. Given the blood which splattered across the windshield, at least one soldier didn’t manage to jump out of the way in time. But beyond stretched the empty streets of a stunned Dalaran. Medivh expertly dove into the maze of streets, the military van still high on their tail.

They took a sharp turn into a busy avenue. Medivh cursed as they found themselves amongst the traffic.

“Go right after the red light.”

Medivh jumped at the sudden voice. Garona’s face was pressed at the window, eyes staring straight ahead.

“Don’t tell me where to go.”

“You’ll do as I say and that’s that,” Garona retorted.

“Why?”

Medivh was shaking with barely controlled anger. Taria watched him worriedly.

“Because I’ve got your precious protégé back here and you can’t stop me from shooting four bullets into him.”

A stunned silence met the statement. 

“You wouldn’t,” eventually said Medivh, pale-faced.

A humorless chuckled answered him, followed by the sound of the safety of a gun being removed. Garona slipped the gun through the window and pressed its barrel against Medivh’s neck.

“Or maybe I’ll just shoot you.”

Taria scrambled against the door, thinking fast. “Garona, please.”

“Shut up,” Garona didn’t even look at her, “and drive.”

Medivh took a right.

 


	26. II, 11

##### PART TWENTY-SIX [USA, Dalaran City – streets]: praying for the light.

Garona kept directing them, Medivh obeying her every word as they sped through the streets, until Medivh eventually spoke up.

“Wait. Where are they?”

Taria looked in her rear view mirror, noticing that the street behind them was completely empty.

“We’ve lost them,” she said, relief invading her.

“No,” Medivh said, “that’s impossible, they were right here!”

“Well, we’re not gonna complain they’ve disappeared, are we?” asked Garona, gesturing with her gun. Taria eyed it closely.

She and Medivh exchanged a gaze which spoke all they couldn’t word right now.

“Enter here,” Garona enjoined Medivh, who made a turn to enter an underground parking lot. “Stop over there.”

He did as told, and stopped the car. He and Taria stepped out almost immediately, coming round the car to meet Garona as she opened the van’s back doors. She did not have time to react, as Medivh grabbed her by the collar, hauling her out and slamming her against the side of the van. She gasped and clutched at his hands but she couldn’t overpower him. Eventually, she relented, going slack in his hold instead and setting a furious gaze on him.

“What the fuck, Medivh?”

“We never should have trusted you,” he growled.

“What?” she exclaimed. “You must be kidding. I’ve only helped you until now! Khadgar is right here!”

Medivh pressed her more firmly against the side of the van and she grimaced.

“How do you explain what happened at the compound, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know very well what I mean.” His voice had gotten dangerously low, his face getting closer to Garona’s, her eyes widening with every inch that disappeared between them. They jumped from Medivh’s to Taria’s, standing still a few meters away, arms crossed and expression accusatory. 

There was a definite change in Garona’s stance as she went from terrified to contemptuous. 

“How dare you?” she asked, and her own voice was pitched low, matching Medivh’s. “After all I’ve done for you, you accuse me of, what exactly?”

“You tipped off the freaking FBI!” Medivh barked at her. “They knew which building was going to blow up. Do you think we’re blind in addition to stupid?”

Her eyes widened momentarily.

“Didn’t think we’d notice that, eh? Well too bad, we did. Your plan was almost perfect, wasn’t it? So what is it you want? You’re entirely at our mercy, now, what is it you were _trying_ to achieve by _pretending_ to save Khadgar?”

Garona frowned.

“Pretending? As far as I’m concerned, I have saved Khadgar. You’re the one trying to put this all in jeopardy by keeping us here. We have to get the hell out of here as soon as possible, or they’ll come for us. Don’t you see?”

“You bitch—“

He was cut off by Garona struggling against his hold. Medivh looked this close to striking her. Taria shook her head, coming to lay a soothing hand on Medivh’s arm. When Garona had relented, Taria turned to her.

“So what about Khadgar?” she asked her. “What happened to him?”

Garona sobered up immediately, face growing somber.

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“Try us,” Medivh gritted out.

Garona cut him a disdainful glare, but instead addressed Taria with her next words.

“He tried to kill himself.”

She must have been expecting the news to deal Medivh a blow because as soon as he weakened his hold on her, she was breaking free and away from him, drawing her gun. Taria raised hers lightning fast, and as Garona aimed hers at Medivh, she pointed her gun at Garona.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Taria,” Garona warned her.

“Like you’re about to, you mean?” she shot back.

“I’m about to shoot a criminal. You kill me and you’re just worsening your case.”

“I’m afraid there’s no coming back from where I’m from. Shooting you will be the least of my sins.”

“Well, go ahead, then, do it.”

“You’re lying,” Medivh’s voice suddenly cut their banter short and both women turned to look at him.

“I’m not,” Garona told him. “I—They found him this morning. He had cut his wrists opened.”

Medivh let out a humorless laugh. “You’re only saying this to get a rise out of me.”

“You don’t believe me, go and take a look,” she cried out, gesturing towards the back of the van, where Khadgar’s still body still lied on the stretcher.

Medivh breathed in deeply, trying to get the situation back under control. He could see with how fast things were escalating, they wouldn’t all get out of this alive.

“Fine,” he spitted out eventually. “Say I believe you. What do we do now?”

Garona rolled her eyes. “Finally you start talking sense. I have parked a car in this lot, we can take it and make a run for it. It’s not registered so no one can trace it back to me. All that’s left is to steer clear of any patrol or control and get out of this city.”

As she talked, she sheathed her gun and Taria tentatively lowered hers. Although with one look shared with Medivh, she understood he wasn’t so ready to trust her this time. Taria, for that matter, wasn’t either. She had been the one to notice the peculiar absence of people evacuating the blown-up building. She had also come to the conclusion Garona had orchestrated the whole thing, having the building be evacuated beforehand so no one would get hurt in this giant scam she was pulling on them. Taria couldn’t repress the shiver that ran down her back at the thought she and Medivh would have been ready to follow Garona blindly had they not noticed that particular detail.

Taria knew, however, that if she shot Garona now, they had no way of escaping the city safe and sound. Therefore, she reluctantly put the gun back in her belt. 

“Well, where is the car?” she asked.

Garona squinted at her.

“You believe me?” she sounded bewildered.

“Not like we have a choice,” Taria decided to admit.

“I guess not,” Garona glanced between the two of them and something about them seemed to do the trick, “it’s the silver one over there.”

Medivh turned to see but Taria stubbornly kept her gaze set on Garona. She gave her a sly smile.

“Here,” she flung the keys to her. “We’re going to need to carry Khadgar to it.”

Taria caught the keys, glaring at the other woman. 

“Not so fast,” she stopped her. She extended a hand towards her. “Give me your gun.”

Garona stared at her hand for a long while. Taria thought she was going to simply ignore her, but she eventually raised surprised eyes towards her, and gave over her gun. Taria was floored, but she did her best to hide it, instead passing the gun over to Medivh.

“Now I’ll unlock the car.”

Taria went, easily spotting the car Garona was speaking of. It was an old one, which you actually had to unlock the front door by turning the key before being able to enter the car. Taria settled at the front seat and turned the ignition. She wondered how they were supposed to do the four hundred miles they needed to reach the Canadian border with such a car.

But then it hit her Garona had no idea of their plan to escape from the US, never to be seen nor heard from again by any American intelligence agency. Her suspicions grew ever stronger as she realized that, up until now, the other woman had thought they were going back to New York once Khadgar was retrieved. Going back to Stormwind. To Lothar.

Leaving the key in the ignition, Taria got out of the car, opening the door to the backseat so as to welcome Khadgar’s unconscious body. Medivh had Garona carrying him as he kept a careful eye on her, his fingers poised on the gun’s trigger. His eyes strayed from Garona to Khadgar, equally anguished and angered. Both Garona and Medivh sent Taria a curious glance when they saw she wasn’t at the wheel. She hoped to convey both a reassurance and a warning in her own returned glance to Medivh, and hoped that Garona interpret it as residual distrust. They were still holding her at gunpoint anyway.

Taria came forward to help Garona with Khadgar who, although he looked so thin, thinner than he had last time she had seen him about a year ago, still looked to be of a considerable weight. Together, they deposited him on the backseat, trying to get him to stay upright, and fastening the seatbelt around him.

Taria straightened up first, and gestured to Medivh.

When Garona turned around, all she saw was a swift movement before being knocked out. Medivh and Taria dragged her body out of the way. They searched her pockets for any valuable items, took her phone and wallet. She carried a small notebook on which she used to scribble her impressions of convicts, witnesses, suspects. Medivh took out a page, searched for a pen.

He made a point of placing the small folded note into Garona’s slack hand.

Eventually, and without a final glance, they got into the car.

“Are you okay?” Taria asked as they sat in silence for a few minutes. Both their breathing, as labored as they had gotten as they took care of Garona, had calmed down by now.

“Yeah,” Medivh answered, and she knew it was the truth.

They smiled at each other. The car had not stopped running. They would have to get rid of it at one point anyway. They couldn’t risk paying for gas so they would have to switch cars in a passing town on their way to the border. Before they left, though, they both turned to gaze at Khadgar. 

He looked surprisingly peaceful, mouth half-open on the soft breaths getting in and out of his mouth. His head had lolled forward, his body angled awkwardly against the door. But they could see how pale he looked, how thin and sickly, and neither could ignore the bandages which wrapped around his wrists. Garona had told the truth.

Taria’s hand found Medivh’s and she squeezed it slightly. She could not even begin to imagine what he must have been feeling at this moment, but she felt in any case he could benefit from her support. He gave her a thankful smile. They both resettled on their seat. Medivh maneuvered to drive out of the parking lot, taking deep calming breaths. They had a long trip ahead of them, a trip they did not plan to come back from.

When Garona awoke, it was several hours later and the sun had already well ascended into the sky, entering the underground parking lot by its wide-opened gate. The first thing she noticed was the coldness of the wall behind her, followed closely by the general freezing cold that had settled over her entire body and started seeping into her bones. Then, she saw the empty slot where she knew she had parked the car she intended to take to drive back to New York with Medivh and Taria. Finally, she felt the crinkled paper in her hand.

Rising her hand, shaking like a leaf, she unfolded the paper, uncovering the two words and the line of numbers that had been hastily scribbled on it. With a frustrated cry, she crinkled it into her closed fist. She rose on unstable legs, leaning against the wall for support. She needed to find a phone, and fast. She searched through her pockets, unsurprised to find them emptied out. As she hobbled her way out into the street, she massaged the painful lump on her skull.

All she had seen was the rapid swing of Medivh’s arm as he hit her with the butt of her own gun. She had not been expecting it, to say the least, and she was currently silently cursing herself for having been so foolish. As soon as they had started to manifest any doubt about her, she should have stopped trusting them. She should have known they would not simply let her tag along forever. 

She wasn’t so stupid as to think they could have run the risk of going back to the Stormwind now, with her on their trail. They had all but disappeared. All she could do was hope the borders control would stop them before they could cross. They had been closed for days, ever since Lothar had escaped. They wouldn’t be able to get too far, Garona was sure of this.

She eventually entered a small grocery store, and she flashed her FBI badge which had amazingly retained its place in her breast pocket, asking for use of the phone. It was granted to her with an impressed gaze and a murmured thanks for her service to the country. Garona ignored it, instead pushing in the number she knew by heart, by now. It only rung once before the call was received.

“This is agent Halforcen. I’m sorry, sir, but they got away. My guess is they’re heading for the border. They’re aboard a silver…”

She listed all the information about the car, having committed it to memory even when she didn’t believe it would come in useful. Now, however, she was grateful for it, even as she seethed internally as she recounted, with as much objectivity as she could, the events of the night over the phone. 

“I got knocked out and woke up ten minutes ago, my pockets had been emptied and all I had left was my badge.”

There was a grand silence on the other side of the line. She held on to the receiver, trying to perceive any reaction at all. When she heard the distinctive click indicating the end of the call, Garona was dumbfounded. She had been dismissed without a word, cast aside as if she was useless. This was a clear and painful rebuke.

She stumbled outside, only now wondering if she might not have a concussion, what with how light she felt, and how her eyes hurt with the light that streamed down from the sky. She wandered the streets of Dalaran, at a loss, for a long while before she eventually realized she still had the crinkled paper secure in her hand. She came to a sudden stop in the street, uncaring as several passersby sent invectives her way. She stared long and hard at the paper, her mind racing and heart beating so hard it was all she could hear.

Her vision swam over the words. She could not begin to understand what they meant, if they could mean what she wished, if she only had the right to wish for them to mean this. She hated herself momentarily for feeling the way she did, but she could not help it. She had not been lying, back in the hotel room with Medivh, when she had said she had sacrificed so much in order to protect him, for the past ten years. She could not even dare to imagine how different her life would have been, had she felt the same unwavering sense of duty towards her mission then as the one she felt now. But she had not, and she had dedicated ten years of her life to cover up the fact she had failed in her duty, betrayed her country, and abandoned herself to a suspected criminal.

But she really could not help how her heart began to soar as she read over the two words Medivh had written on the paper, over and over again until they were seared in her mind, every curl of the letters, every crease of the paper committed to her memory, for a long time to come.

_xxx-xxx-xxx  
Call me. _


	27. II, 12

##### PART TWENTY-SEVEN [USA, New York City – the Gilneas]: never surrender.

Liam barged into the room at exactly 12:41. Llane was up on his feet, wide awake as the door slammed and he caught sight of the young man, breathing heavily. Anduin was another story: Liam’s entrance had woken him up from the slumber he had fallen into, slumped in an armchair, having finally given in to his tiredness after more than twenty-four. He glared confusedly, not quite awake yet. Liam did not give him the time to fully emerge.

“We have to go,” he said simply.

Anduin sat up, groaning and holding his head in his hands. “What?”

“You should have told us the cops were at the Stormwind,” Liam continued. “That’s an information we could have benefitted from.”

Anduin crossed gaze with Llane’s guilty one, struck still in the middle of the room. Anduin knew immediately Llane had indeed been aware that the cops had broken into the bar, and yet he had failed to inform either Anduin or the Greymanes about it.

“Anyway, they’re on their way here,” Liam said. “You two need to disappear.”

“Have you got our IDs?” Llane asked him.

“Yes. Now come on, get up,” he kicked Anduin’s legs. “You never should have come here anyway,” he added quietly. Llane wasn’t sure they were supposed to hear.

They started down the hallway, Liam leading them through the maze that Llane now recognized the Gilneas to be. He was pretty sure most of the rooms were underground, stretching under the city for far wider than the space it occupied on the surface. Somehow though, Llane did not remember having encountered any stairs, which only added to him feeling lost here. He felt a pang in his heart at the thought that he would rather be back in Stormwind right now, but he was never going back to his bar.

Eventually, Liam stopped in front of a door at the end of a long corridor. In appearance, nothing differentiated this door from any of the others they had walked past. However, Llane felt a small chill go through his bones, and he stared expectantly as Liam produced a key and unlocked the door. Blessed cold air entered the corridor.

The door opened on a vast underground parking lot, the walls punctured at regular intervals about two meters high, allowing the air to enter. Both Llane and Anduin gulped the fresh air greedily, having gone hours with only the stale atmosphere of the Gilneas’ closed circuit. How the Greymanes and their men could stand it all day long, they did not know. Taking a closer look around, they saw long rows of identical cars. They didn’t doubt for a second they all sported unregistered license plates. Their black body glistened in the light that streamed in from outside. Dust particles danced in the air.

“We’ll take a car and get out of town,” Liam said. He turned towards them and handed them their papers. “Here are the IDs you’ve requested. Money’s in the car. We need to get you both away from here ASAP, that’s all that matters for now.”

He looked and sounded agitated, nerves coursing through his veins as the cops inevitably got closer and closer to the Gilneas. Anduin and Llane’s presence here was a dangerous liability for Greymane. It was no wonder he wanted to get rid of them as quickly as possible.

Anduin furrowed his brow. “We?” he pointed out.

“Yeah,” Liam had walked up to one of the cars and had opened the door, waiting for them, “I’m coming with you.”

They all got in the car, the doors slamming shut with an ominous sound which reverberated throughout the parking lot. 

“Why?” asked Anduin.

“Because I was ordered to.”

Liam had answered in a disinterested tone, busy fiddling with the car’s settings. He opened the glove box and handed them both their guns.

“By your father?” Llane guessed.

Liam glanced at him, as if daring him to say anything more. Llane swallowed the sour taste in his mouth, and kept his opinion to himself.

Liam started the car and skidded towards the lot’s automatic doors. They opened slowly and without a sound, letting in the sun and blinding them. In the same movement, they all put on their sunglasses.

The parking lot opened on the street on the other side of the block from the Gilneas. The street was empty, and they drove through it at a measured pace. They soon found themselves among traffic, and the three men visibly relaxed. It was moments before any of them spoke.

“We’re being followed,” Liam said quietly.

Anduin had to forcibly stop himself from turning around. 

“Cops?”

“Black car, black suits. I’d say FBI.”

Llane and Anduin exchanged a pointed look. 

Liam glanced in the rear-view mirror. He took a right at the next intersection. Unperceptively, he started speeding up. At first, the car following them seemed to get farther and farther away, until it sped up in turn and started catching up with them.

“Shit!” Liam exclaimed.

The chase was on. Anduin checked his gun’s magazine, counting how many bullets he had left. Liam took a sharp turn, now going full-speed in the streets. These were busy streets, pedestrians and drivers staring aghast as they zoomed past and between them. No matter what, however, the car behind them did not relent. A steady stream of invectives escaped Liam’s mouth now. Llane stared surprised at the sixteen year-old holding his ground in a car chase through New York of all cities. He was wrenched out of his thoughts as they skidded and hit a parked car. The shock rattled their car and Liam cried out.

“Fuck!” he yelled. Without missing a beat, he backed up and started again down the road. But the fleeting stop allowed their pursuer to get closer of a few meters.

Anduin lowered his window, glancing by the back window. He passed his arm by the window and took aim. He shot straight through the windshield and the black car zigzagged momentarily. Anduin thought he had gotten the driver but as the car straightened again, he swore.

“Can you go faster?” he yelled.

“I’d like to see you try!”

Liam’s grip on the wheel was tight, his knuckles having gone white. He stared straight ahead at the road, maintaining his control on the car with practiced expertise. Suddenly, they found themselves in the middle of a high-traffic highway. Their speed relented considerably but they were also surrounded by dozens of fast-moving cars. Glancing behind, Anduin spotted their pursuers blocked by three cars.

“Good job!” he told Liam. A fleeting smile split the boy’s face before he focused back on the road.

Llane took a steadying breath, slowly unwrapping his fingers from where he had gripped the seat tightly. He glanced at Anduin, who was watching the car chasing them, face set in a hard and focused expression. All the worry that had been weighing on him ever since his escape seemed to have ebbed from his features with the thrill of the chase. Finally, he could focus on something else than his guilt at having left Khadgar behind.

There was a bump. Llane turned alarmed towards Liam. His face was chalk-like with how pale he was. Llane caught a snippet of his incessant muttering.

“Shit, shit, fuck, damn, shit…”

He laid a hand on Liam’s tightened one and his blown-out eyes jumped from the road to Llane’s eyes.

“Hey, kid, breathe. You’re fine, you hear me?”

“Y-yeah,” Liam staggered.

“Now was what that sound?” Llane asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered.

“Ok. Let’s not worry just yet. As long as the car runs, we’ll be fine.” He resisted adding the _I hope_ he was thinking.

Liam nodded, seeming a bit calmer than before.

“I can’t see them,” Anduin said suddenly. He shifted on his seat, leaning between the two front seats. “Do you have an idea where we could go?” he asked them.

Llane went over his mental map, trying to conjure up a plan for them to escape the CIA.

“The plan was to leave the city,” Liam said. His voice was poised, sounding definitely more controlled than he had been minutes before. “But with the CIA hot on our heels, that’s proving difficult. We’d need to ditch the car, they’ve got us spotted. Let’s just hope we don’t run into a patrol.”

Llane nodded. “There’s a parking lot not far from here. Do you know it?”

“Guide me,” Liam asked.

They drove out of the highway, going slowly through the streets. Anduin kept an eye on the road behind them, wary that the black car might reappear. The street was empty.

“It’s right there,” Llane indicated.

Anduin caught movement out of the corner of his eyes.

“Shit! Change of plans!” 

Liam was half-way in the parking lot already. They didn’t have time to back up.

“Go!” Anduin enjoined him. 

They proceeded into the lot, the darkened space suddenly illuminated by the flickering automated lights.

“What do we do?” Llane asked.

“We gotta ditch the car.”

“That entry’s the sole exit!” 

Anduin cursed.

“We’re trapped,” Llane said.

“Not quite.”

Anduin and Llane stared dumbfounded at Liam. His face was set in a decided scowl, jaw tight and eyes hard. He pointed at the pedestrian exit.

Anduin rose an eyebrow. “What do you suggest? We just walk out of there hoping no one sees us?”

“This is a building’s parking lot. You can take the backdoor, find a car and get the hell out of here.”

He rolled his eyes at their disbelieving chuckles. “Look, only one car followed us right? In the car, three men. They parked the car in front of the lot’s exit. One guy stays inside, two of them enter the lot.” As he spoke, he navigated them to the inferior level. “No way can they block all of the exits.”

“But they’ll just keep following us,” Llane intervened. “On foot, we have no chance.”

Liam stopped the car suddenly. He opened the glove box, took out a gun, checked its magazine.

“Not if I stop them first.”

Llane stared at him.

The three of them started as sounds of voices and footsteps echoed throughout the lot.

Liam stepped out of the car. Exchanging a worried gaze, Llane and Anduin did the same. Liam pointed them in the direction of the pedestrian exit.

“You go,” he told them. 

“We can’t leave you here!” Llane hissed.

“Not like you have a choice.”

The voices were getting closer and closer.

“Liam,” Llane said, catching his arm.

The teenager placed his own hand atop Llane’s, smiling. “Go.”

“Freeze!” The order shattered across the silent lot. Llane started. An armed suited man was walking towards them, holding his gun pointed straight at them.

Anduin stepped in, grabbing Llane’s arm. “Come on,” he said.

“No,” Llane whispered.

“Go!” Liam yelled.

Llane ran. The door slammed shut behind them as guns fired. They had no time to stop, climbing the stairs two-by-two. They found themselves in the building’s ground floor, running through the empty corridors. They had no idea where they should go. Their hearts beat louder than their footsteps, adrenaline rushing through their veins.

Llane felt tears burning in his eyes. Liam’s face was engraved in his mind as he ordered him to leave him. The gunshot had made Llane’s blood freeze in his veins. As soon as he had let go of Liam’s arm, he had felt guilt twist deeply in his gut, guilt which he now had to fight against so as not to turn back around and back into that parking lot. That would sign his death sentence. Llane only hoped they hadn’t signed Liam’s.

He had no idea how they found themselves outside. They were in a back alley, entirely empty except for a van. It seemed too good to be true. With shaking hands, they managed to wrench the doors open. Anduin sat at the driver’s seat, breathing heavily, sweat running down his back, and he dived to court-circuit the car’s system and ignite the motor. With a final glance towards the backdoor of the building, they drove away.

As they roamed the streets of New York, Llane let his tears fall freely. They tasted bitter on his lips as he shook with barely controlled anger. Anduin sent him concerned glances every once in a while, at a loss.

Liam had sacrificed himself for them, not out of friendship for them, not even out of an over-developed sense of altruism that might have pushed him to give his life to save two complete strangers which he held in obvious contempt. Liam had not approved of them, had not approved of the order to help them escape. Given the chance, just like his father, he would have gunned them both down, never to be seen or talked of again. But instead, he had been ordered to help them, not by the family but by his own father.

Liam had known that if anything had happened to either Llane or Anduin, it would have been his father’s fault. The family had been clear, no harm was to be done to either of them. Genn would have been punished, dishonored, cast away. And then, Genn’s anger towards Liam would have been unimaginable. 

Liam had sacrificed himself, for fear of disappointing his father.

Llane punched the dashboard, once, hard, and the pain that shot up his arm was welcome. He did not want to think, did not want to wonder whether Liam had survived, or what Genn would think if he hadn’t. He did not want to think about the pain of losing your own son, nor did he want to think about how Genn would blame them for his son’s death.

The sun shone relentless above them. The highway opened in front of them, cars speeding next to them, as they headed west, towards freedom acquired with too great a cost.

 


	28. II, 13

##### PART TWENTY-EIGHT [USA, New York State – the road]: leave out all the rest.

Taria drove. Medivh was out like a light before they even exited the city, his soft snores filling the tiny space of the car. She kept a careful eye on him and Khadgar, occasionally turning so she could gaze at him. She wondered how normal it was that he had not woken up yet. She guessed he had been pretty much drugged out while under the doctors’ care and the morphine’s effect must have still been in action. Still, she resisted the pressing urge to stop the car and check for his pulse every hundred miles.

Medivh woke up just as she started noticing their gas level was getting dangerously low.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she went for, although her voice was tight with growing worry.

He groaned, straightening from his slouched position. He had slept for almost three hours, folded on himself on the front seat, face pressed against the window. The sun had just barely started rising above the horizon when he had stirred. Taria laid a hand on his shoulder, massaging it.

“There, there,” she said. “Sleep well?”

When all he answered with was yet another groan, Taria frowned. She glanced at him, trying to keep her attention on the road as the same time as she was assessing Medivh’s mood.

“What’s up with you?” she asked him.

She let her hand wander up his arm, heading for the shoulder. When her fingers dipped in something slick and warm as the same time as Medivh chocked out a cry of pain, Taria’s eyes widened.

“Oh my God, Medivh, you’re bleeding!”

She brought her hand back on the wheel, uncaring of the blood that stained her fingers. Hastily, she pulled over on the side of the road and parked the car. She undid her seatbelt and turned on her seat so as to face Medivh.

“Let me see,” she demanded.

Medivh looked pale and unsteady. His brow was lined and eyes scrunched in pain. She wondered how he could have hidden his wound for all this time, if he himself had even realized he was hurt before, caught in the action as they all were.

The blood, by now, had seeped through his black suit jacket, creating a dark large stain Taria was only now noticing, much to her dismay. But with the jacket on, she couldn’t see the wound in itself.

“Medivh, Medivh,” she tried to get him to snap into focus as his head lolled and he let out small whimpers at every slight movement of his arm. “I need you to work with me, here. We’re going to have to remove your jacket, I need to see the wound. Come on, raise your arm.”

Painstakingly, she managed to get him to remove his jacket, leaving him in a white shirt. The blood was stark red against the white fabric, and had soaked in even deeper than on the jacket. Now, Taria could see what caused all this bleeding: an angry, wide-opened gash on the side of his shoulder. A bullet must have grazed him. Although the blood had already coagulated, it seemed the sudden movements as Medivh awakened had reopened it and fresh blood was oozing. Taria tried her best not to hurt Medivh more as she assessed the damage.

“Shit, we don’t have anything to clean the wound with,” she gritted out. “Best I can do is wrap it up. Don’t mind if I do,” she said as she ripped out the hem of Medivh’s shirt. He whimpered but she figured it had more to do with being jostled around than an actual complain at his shirt getting ruined. It already was anyway. She tied the strap of fabric tightly around his arm, hoping it would help stop the bleeding, or at the very least reduce it.

“You idiot,” she whispered when she was done. She let her fingers trail over Medivh’s face, threading them through his hair which she tucked behind his ears. He was warm to the touch, feverish. It did nothing to soothe her worry.

She couldn’t help glancing at the back towards Khadgar. He was sleeping a soundly as ever—a mercy, she thought. She cursed the painful lack of water or any kind of liquid, really, as she could really do with a drink right now. She cursed Medivh, also, for either having hidden his wound from her, or for having ignored the throbbing pain in his arm for so long that he himself had managed not to notice it.

Eventually, she resettled on her seat, and started the car back again. It did not do well to sit idly in one place for too long, but she had to admit she had appreciated a break. She had been driven non-stop since Dalaran. She had been so tensed all the way she felt the stiffness settle in her arms and hands. But with Medivh in the state he was in, she knew he wouldn’t be fit to drive any time soon. She only hoped they would make it. 

She got back on the road. Medivh was restless beside her, lost in his fevered illusions, not quite awake but certainly not asleep either. At one point, she had reached over to squeeze his knee and her hand had not moved since. It was all too soon, however, that she started seeing the first signs on the side of the road, announcing miles to the Canadian border.

She had to make up her mind eventually, and realized they had no chance of passing through borders control as they were: two wounded men and her, sleep-deprived, hands stained in dry blood and looking like she had gone through hell. She stopped in a small town a while away from the main road. She found some public toilets where she tried her best at tidying her appearance. She washed her hands and face, fixed her hair, applied lipstick, anything to look more _normal_ and less _fugitive on the run_.

She came out feeling a little bit more normal, too. She cast a worried glance inside the car where her two companions were still in the position she left them. At least Khadgar looked at peace. She climbed in the car, drove until she found the farthest and lousiest looking motel around. She booked a single room, not even bothering with an act, and then went back to the car.

She was surprised when she was met with two clear grey eyes, having lost their glazed-over appearance. 

“Medivh,” she breathed out. “Are you feeling a bit better?”

“What happened?” he said softly.

“You were shot. Did you really not notice?”

He didn’t answer her.

“Listen, we gotta do something about your wound. And about the car, for that matter. We’re twenty miles to the border but there’s no chance in hell we’ll get through with you looking like you do.”

Only now did he seem to notice the blood all over his shirt. He paled, something she didn’t think he should have been capable of. 

“Can you walk?” she asked him. He nodded numbly. “Great. I’m gonna carry Khadgar, don’t you worry about that. Take the key, we’re in room 7.”

She circled the car to reach Khadgar’s door. She opened the door cautiously, well aware of the way the young man was leaning against it. He started to fall over but she managed to catch him in time. Not without effort, she straightened him up, slipping an arm under his shoulders and lifting him. It was a short walk to the room, but she felt like she would never make it. Medivh had had the mind to leave the door wide open and she was grateful as she crossed the threshold, dropping Khadgar unceremoniously on the only bed.

“Medivh?” she called, not seeing him.

“Over here,” the strained answer came from the bathroom door.

She slammed the entrance door shut and headed for the bathroom. Medivh was sitting on the closed toilet seat. He had unwrapped the make-shift bandage and was in the process of removing his shirt.

“Here, let me help you,” Taria said as she noticed the grimace of pain which twisted Medivh’s features.

Together, they managed to get Medivh down to his undershirt. The wound was ugly, the gash looking red and swollen, bruises having formed all around it. The skin had been violently cut open.

“When did it happen?” Taria wondered.

“As we were exiting the compound, I’d wager,” Medivh gritted out between clenched teeth.

It was the last time they had seen bullets. “Did you feel it at all?” she asked him then.

“I don’t know.”

She looked at him, taken aback.

“I don’t remember what happened so well, Taria.”

He looked devastated. “Hey, it’s alright,” she told him. “A lot has happened and you haven’t had near enough sleep to be able to process it.”

“At least I’ve slept. You look like shit.”

“Well, thanks,” she said, attempting a sarcastic smile, but she knew it came off wrong. “But I must admit anything that happened since yesterday morning seems a bit hazy too.”

They sat in silence as Taria cleaned the gash as well as she could, wrapping it in a clean bandage, once again ripped from Medivh’s shirt.

“You can’t wear that,” she said, pointing to the ruined shirt, all torn up and bloodied.

“What do you suggest?”

“Can I leave you alone? I’ll be back shortly.”

He nodded. 

When she drove back into the motel’s parking lot half an hour later, the reception clerk was floored. He had to take a double-take to recognize her as the same woman who had booked a room earlier. He was so shocked that no suspicion awakened in him at all. Instead, he was filled with a sense of pure wonder and amazement. Hours later, when she would leave, leaving a bloodied and torn-up shirt in the bathroom’s sink along with an empty vial of whiskey in the bathtub, he would scramble for his cellphone, calling the police hurriedly. But for now, all he did was gaze at her as she passed in front of the motel, going to park the closest possible to the rooms on the other side of the building.

She had left in an old and battered car, in dirty clothes that smelled of smoke, looking exhausted and in urgent need of a shower and a nap. She returned with her hair up in a flowery headband, red sunglasses before her eyes, and ostensibly chewing gum. She had changed clothes, also, going from the classy deep blue suit and smart cotton coat she had worn before to a bright red crop top, a black leather jacket and tight frayed jeans, complimented with studded combat boots, which made him wonder how she could bear the freezing temperatures. But as much as her appearance left the clerk speechless, it was her car which had his mouth fall open and his eyes widen as he took it all in.

It was an electric blue Maserati convertible, all slick angles and powerful allure. The clerk had an exclusive view on the road and he had to admit to have seen many things since he had taken this job at the motel. He had seen sports car before, driven by rich and old white men, plump blonds riding shotgun. He had met famous sportsmen riding expensive cars, coming to his motel to avoid any unnecessary attention as they drove through the country. He had passed keys to heavily-tattooed, tough-looking, gun-wielding and muscled men who he had not had an inkling of doubt dwelled in less-than-legal transactions on a daily basis. He had fallen into the habit of trying to guess what his customers’ lives were like, what their job were, what brought them to this tiny lost town in the middle of Nowhere, New York State.

But the woman who had arrived this morning, tired eyes and dug in cheeks, looking like she hadn’t slept in a day, maybe more, jittery and trembling as she accepted the key with a whispered thanks, he had simply assumed she was running away from an ex-boyfriend. Everything fit: the single room, the old car, the fear, her choice of motel. He hadn’t made sense of the suit but he had not paid much attention to it. In fact, he had not paid much attention to _her_. Perhaps he should have had. 

Taria walked back in the room they had booked, closing the door forcefully behind her. She was bringing a heavy bag full of groceries and she grunted under the weight. She set it down on the small table which, along with the bed on which Khadgar was laying, was the only furniture in the room. Medivh had stood up as soon as she had entered. He had somehow gotten rid of his undershirt and was now half-naked. He started looking through the items Taria had brought.

“I got you some 90% alcohol,” she told him.

“Should knock me right out,” he joked.

“For the wound,” she berated him, hitting his non-injured arm.

But the light banter had brought small smiles on their lips and soothed their stressed-out minds a little. Medivh took out the clothes Taria had taken for him. He rose an eyebrow at the brightly colored Hawaiian shirt he found.

“It’s the middle of November,” he stated, disbelieving.

“So? I got you a coat.”

“This isn’t a coat,” he said, sounding disgusted as he fetched the brown fur coat. He held it up in front of him, appreciating its ugliness, and figured it would fit him right under the knees. When he turned towards her, he saw Taria’ shit-eating grin and he sighed. “The pink elephant strategy?”

“Oh yeah,” she confirmed.

He took out the rest of the items and laid them on the chair: skinny leather pants, black and white tennis shoes which resembled more slippers than actual shoes, a baseball cap with NYC itched on the front. He regarded them all with the same quizzical expression while Taria snickered next to him.

“Well. Let’s take care of the wound and get dressed, I guess,” he accepted his fate.

“You love it,” Taria chided him. Medivh begged to disagree.

She cleaned and dressed his wound tightly and left him to done the clothes while she dragged Khadgar back to the car. Medivh had insisted to help her but she had refused categorically. No way in Hell was she letting him carry any weight with a shoulder wound. He had grumbled but agreed. She had parked the car right in front of their room anyway. Before exiting the room, she had glanced around to make sure nobody else was out so that she not have to explain the unconscious man she was currently dragging to her car.

She settled Khadgar in the backseat, prompting him against the door. She leaned on the side of the car, breath coming in short rapid puffs. She was struck by how peaceful Khadgar seemed to be as he slept. She wondered if it was normal that he still hadn’t woken up despite everything that had happened around him since last night. He had been rolled out of the FBI compound, put in the back of a van, lifted from the stretcher to the back of a car, from there to a motel bed, and then back to a different car, and all throughout, he had slept as soundly as ever. She swiped a finger across his brow, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He didn’t react.

She heard the door close behind her and she fell short when she saw Medivh. She hated that he looked good, but the fact was that he did, despite wearing the atrocities that she had managed to find for him. Then again, she was sure Medivh would look stunning in damn near anything. He was in the process of putting on the cap as he left the room. She smothered the laughter which threatened to explode as soon as she had caught sight of him. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Medivh rolled his eyes at her, “laugh all you want but you don’t look any better.”

She pouted but decided to let it slide. She slid into the driver’s seat, unlocking the door so Medivh could get in. She observed him in the rearview mirror as he stopped next to Khadgar, laying the blanket he had took from the bed on him, tucking him in. His face was expressionless as he gazed at him. She thought he would do as she did, brush his brow, but he let his hand fall without touching Khadgar. When he sat next to her, his face was closed-off, a storm brewing in his eyes. She started the car without a word.

They passed in front of the motel without noticing the curious gaze which followed them. The clerk was stunned to see two men with the lady he had talked to. He had been sure she was alone. This, along with the brand new and expensive car she now drove, the suspiciously unmoving man in the backseat, and the fact the second man was dressed as extravagantly as she was, only contributed to his astonishment. But it still was not enough to worry him. He got back to his work, not questioning any further the identity of that woman, nor the fact she had come in at ten a.m. and left at one in the afternoon. When he finally went to clean her room, in order to get it ready for other guests, and found the blood in the bathroom, it was already too late.

Medivh tensed as they approached the border. Uniformed officers stopped each and every car that wanted to go through, as was protocol. Papers, please, and if everything was in order, you went through without questions. There didn’t seem to be any additional control, or FBI-looking people at the border control. Despite appearances, Medivh knew Taria was as stressed as he was. When they drove up to the officer, however, she dazzled him with a smile, and handed their papers. The officer looked through them for too long for Medivh’s taste, glancing up at the both of them, and Khadgar in the back seat.

Taria had launched into an animated rant, lying through her teeth and smiling as she did so.

“So we’re going to go visit my brother, see, cause his baby’s just been born, like I told you, can’t miss baby’s birth, can we? Me and my husband over there have been waiting for weeks for such a good news, we were ready to leave before he even hung up! Now, of course, for someone like my husband’s brother, in the backseat here, it’s kind of a long trip. He’s been sleeping since we arrived in the state! Can you imagine sleeping like that? But I know my brother-in-law could sleep through a hurricane—not that I hope he would, God forbid he ever find himself anywhere near a hurricane. We’re from Kentucky, you know, did I tell you we’re from Kentucky? Cause we are. Don’t get a lot of hurricanes over there, no, sir, we don’t.”

The officers gave them back their papers and gestured for them to go through. Taria promptly shut up and flashed him a last smile. 

Medivh didn’t breathe until they were on Canadian ground. 

 


	29. II, 14

##### PART TWENTY-NINE [Canada, Ontario, Toronto—a flat]: where the heart is.

The door opened and Taria was immediately engulfed in a warm hug.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Llane whispered in her hair. She tightened her hold on him momentarily before they stepped away from each other.

“What is that smell?” she asked, tasteful whiffs reaching her. 

“He’s been baking ever since we got here,” told her Llane, looking desperate. “Make him stop, Taria, please.”

Taria’s eyes widened before she burst out laughing, much to her husband’s dismay. His desperation was not faked, and he really wanted Anduin to stop baking. Llane had texted Taria with the address as they were crossing the border, when he had had confirmation that they were alive and well and not about to get arrested anymore. He and Anduin had been here for hours already when Taria and Medivh got there. Anduin, as Llane had said, had indeed not left the kitchen in hours. He had left to buy groceries almost as soon as they had arrived and had gone to work immediately. Llane couldn’t count how many cakes were currently cooling on the kitchen’s table, nor how many cupcakes were now baking in the oven. Anduin said it helped him not worry too much—Llane knew it was just one way to calm his nerves. But his agitation in the kitchen had only increased Llane’s own as they waited for news from Taria and Medivh.

“Well,” Taria said, “you can go tell him he can stop worrying. He’s here,” she added, a smile gracing her lips.

It was Llane’s turn to have his eyes widen and his mouth fall agape. “Oh, Taria!” he breathed out, and brought her close to him in another hug. “Anduin!” he bellowed.

The relief on Anduin’s face when he saw his sister was spectacular. But the first word that escaped his mouth brought gentle smiles on both Taria and Llane’s face.

“Khadgar…?”

Taria nodded positively, and the tears she saw sparkling in Anduin’s eyes brought her to tears as well. She sniffed, and gestured to him.

“Well come on, you big idiot, help us bring him up.”

Medivh had stayed in the parking lot, watching over Khadgar until Taria came back with Llane and Anduin to help bring him up to the flat the family had put to their disposal. Khadgar was still unconscious, and Medivh could see where the blood had stained the bandages around his wrists. They would have to clean them and dress them in a clean bandage as soon as possible. He turned around as he heard the door to the parking lot open, and greeted Llane with all the relief and joy he felt bubbling inside him. The two men embraced quickly, relishing in each other’s presence.

Medivh let go of Llane, however, when he caught sight of Anduin. He stood to the side, looking awkward and stilted, as if he had something to say but didn’t dare do so. Medivh sighed and rolled his eyes. He stepped forward, opening his arms.

“Come here, you idiot,” he said, throat constricted.

Anduin hugged him as if he was afraid he was going to disappear any second. Medivh hugged him back just as tightly. When they eventually parted, Medivh guessed the question before Anduin said anything.

“I have to warn you. Something happened, and he’s not looking good.” Seeing Anduin’s face light up in alarm, Medivh added quickly: “but he’ll be alright.”

He led him to the car, where Taria and Llane had already unbuckled Khadgar and slipped his legs to the side, waiting for Anduin to come help. Khadgar was dressed in white slacks from the sick ward, his wrists wrapped in white bandage, the blood stains all the more noticeable. It didn’t leave any doubt as to what had happened to him. Medivh observed Anduin’s face closely, worried about his reaction. But Anduin let nothing transpire, simply stepping forward so he could lift Khadgar with Llane. Medivh opened the door for them, letting them through. Taria was behind them. Medivh held the door open for her but she shook her head.

“I gotta dump the car somewhere. They’ll report it missing, can’t have anyone see us with it, or anywhere near it, really.”

“Let me come with you,” he offered.

“No,” she told him, laying a hand on his arm. “You go up. You need to be close to him.”

Her knowing eyes smiled at him. He squeezed her hand, a thankful gesture, before climbing the stairs after Llane and Anduin.

They brought Khadgar in, laying him on a bed. The flat was big and light, with three bedrooms, a huge living space, and an equal kitchen. The kitchen was, much to Medivh’s initial surprise, littered with pastry, and when he questioned Llane, he received a long-suffering sigh and a shrug. He chuckled.

“Lothar give you a hard time?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Llane laughed. “You have to tell me everything that happened to you.”

“Same to you,” Medivh agreed, “but let us take care of Khadgar first.”

“Medivh,” Llane’s tone was somber. “What happened?”

Medivh took a deep breath, gaze slipping towards the opened door to the room Khadgar was in. He knew Lothar was with him right now.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it…?” he whispered. “He tried to take his own life.”

Llane swore under his breath. “When?”

“Before we could rescue him.”

The statement hung between them, heavy and full of meaning. Llane shook his head, his grief engraving deep lines in his brow.

“I’ll get some warm water,” he said.

Medivh nodded, his attention having gone back to the door. The room was dark, the curtains having been closed so as to avoid anyone noticing they had an unconscious and bleeding man in there. Medivh hesitated going in, not wanting to intrude on Lothar. Last time he had seen Khadgar, he had been awake and well, only nine days ago, and they had both been imprisoned. Now, Medivh couldn’t even imagine how Lothar must have been feeling.

He stopped at the threshold, knowing fully well Lothar had noticed him arriving by the shadow he made on the sheets. Lothar was sitting on the bed next to Khadgar’s unconscious body. His hand rested inches away from Khadgar’s arm, but he was not touching him. Medivh wondered what he saw, when gazing at Khadgar’s face, and what he was thinking right now.

“He’s so young,” Lothar said, making Medivh start.

He pondered the words for a moment before answering. “Yes.”

Lothar turned to him, then, and his eyes were filled with tears, falling silently on his cheeks. Medivh felt a tug at his heart, an almost irresistible desire to walk towards Anduin and embrace him, hold him until everything was alright again. He resisted.

“What have we done, Medivh?” Lothar whispered.

Medivh considered the sight before him: his friend, whom he had hated with a passion only two years ago, and then spent countless nights trying to find a way to save; Khadgar, a brilliant, breath-taking young man, whom he had cared for more than he ever thought possible; both of them, next to each other, miles away from what they were used to, but safe, finally. He considered the love he could see shining in Lothar’s eyes, no matter if Lothar could admit it to himself yet or not. He considered his own feelings, as he gazed at Lothar, whom he had loved, and today his heart still constricted at the sight of him, but he could not deny how the last few days had changed him. And all at once, Medivh knew that they would be alright.

“We did what we thought we should do,” he told Lothar.

His head swiveled around, bright blue eyes fixing themselves onto Medivh’s, surprise etched into the lines of his face, the worried crease at the corner of his mouth. Medivh smiled. He turned his head, crossing Llane’s gaze, who had been waiting in the corridor for a while now.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s get Khadgar cleaned up.”

The three of them busied themselves with taking care of Khadgar. They undressed him, their faces pinched in worry as they noticed the bruises which marred his skin still, testimony of what he had suffered in the last few days. Then, they unwrapped the bandages around his wrists, small gasps escaping them when they saw the long deep lines Khadgar had cut into his own skin. They cleaned the wounds and bandaged them again, hands steady despite their distress. Finally, they dressed him in comfortable clean new clothes. They were just a bit too big on him, making him look even thinner than he already was.

When they were done, they left the room, leaving the room open a crack, light from the corridor falling on Khadgar’s undisturbed features.

They found themselves sitting at the kitchen table, half-heartedly munching on one of Anduin’s numerous cakes, as they waited. Waited for what? They could have given plenty of answers to that question, but in truth none of them really knew. Waited for Taria to come back, waited for Khadgar to wake up, waited for one of them to speak…

Taria arrived first. She came to a stop at the kitchen’s door as she caught sight of them. They didn’t take notice of her presence right away, which gave her the opportunity to observe them. Her heart soared at seeing them all gathered here, alive, breathing, and not yelling at each other. They had all gone a long way, and Taria admitted she was proud of them. They weren’t talking either, but somehow the silence reassured her.

Anduin, her brother, was slicing up the cakes as if he was a machine, cutting small meticulous parts of one cake, and immediately switching to another as soon as he was done. The gesture seemed to soothe him, and the exhaustion was slowly settling on his features.

Llane, her husband, was staring with raptured attention as Anduin proceeded, eyes following every single movements of the blade. He munched on a slice of cake, slowly, unconsciously, the jaw working on its own. His hair was impossibly tousled, his face pale, his hands shaking.

And Medivh… He had his back turned to her, but his shoulders were tensed, his hands joined in front of him on the table. He was perfectly still, both feet flat on the ground. Taria realized that, while Llane and Anduin had both gotten rid of their shoes and coat, Medivh was still wearing the tennis shoes she had him wear. He had removed the fur coat at least, and she wondered what he had done with it. The bright colors of his Hawaiian shirt made a stark contrast with the other two men’s white shirts.

Taria chuckled, and they all turned towards her, the same stricken expression on their face. They looked like toddlers who had been caught doing something they shouldn’t have been doing. Taria loved them so much.

She walked into the kitchen, removing her leather jacket and leaving it on the back of a chair. Then, she came behind Medivh and started massaging his shoulders.

“Everything went ok?” Llane asked her.

She nodded. Medivh had immediately gone slack under the pressure of her hands, his eyes had fallen closed and he now sported a face of upmost satisfaction.

“It’s a pity, really,” Anduin said. He had gotten back to slicing his cakes. “To get rid of such a beautiful car.”

There was a lull before they all burst out laughing. Anduin stopped and raised his eyes towards them, at a loss. His statement had seemed so absurd in its normality. Their laughter only died off after long minutes of them laughing so hard their bellies hurt and they had tears streaming down their face. It felt so weird, to be able to laugh so freely, the four of them reunited at last. It had been so long.

As they regained their breath, they each realized the state of exhaustion they all were. When Medivh broke into a yawn, they decided to go lie down. 

“Someone should watch over Khadgar,” Anduin remarked suddenly.

They all glanced at each other, hesitating. Llane decided for all of them.

“Anduin,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Khadgar isn’t going anywhere. We all should go to sleep. Everything will be fine.”

“But what if he wakes up?” Anduin worried.

“He’ll wake us up. But you need sleep, as do we. Come, now, Anduin.”

Llane led him to one of the bedrooms, and Anduin came without another complaint.

Medivh stared at Taria as they stood alone in the living room.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Medivh said and Taria smiled.

“Nonsense.” She extended a hand to him and he took it. They went to the only room left unoccupied. They undressed in silence, not quite looking at each other, but comfortable enough around each other for it not to be awkward. Llane entered moments afterwards, and his eyes crinkled when he took notice of both of them.

“Anduin’s sleeping,” he told them quietly. 

Soon, the three of them would be too, huddled on the one bed, limbs intertwined and hands held tightly between them. 


	30. II, 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The final chapter. Enjoy!

##### PART THIRTY [Canada, Ontario, Toronto—a flat]: in the end.

When Khadgar woke up, the first thing he noticed was how warm he was. Last thing he remembered was a great cold filling his bones and pulling him down into silent spaces where nothing existed. He wiggled his toes, moved his fingers slowly, feeling the pull of his muscles, of his skin as he did so. He felt stiff and sore, every one of his muscles yelling at him, yet it all felt incredibly stifled. His head was floating above the pillow and the pain couldn’t reach him. Khadgar knitted his eyebrows.

Slowly, afraid of what he would see, Khadgar opened his eyes. He was surprised, although he was relieved, when he saw absolutely nothing. He was surrounded by darkness, not a single slimmer of light.

 _Is this death?_ he thought. As soon as he did, however, he knew it wasn’t. He carefully turned his head left and right, trying to see anything that would account for his whereabouts. His eyes were adjusting to the dark, and he could just barely make out the shape of his body under the blanket. Next, he saw the edge of the bed where sudden pitch-black darkness replaced the soft greys of the sheets. Finally, he could see the small space between the door and the wall where it had been left ajar. What little light there was came from the door, and Khadgar wished to reach it.

He tried sitting up, pushing on his arms, but he rapidly found he was too weak for that. He lied back down, his breathing coming out in sharp puffs. Focusing on his movements, he swung his legs to the side, and he heard more than he felt them hit the side of the bed. Panic overwhelmed him momentarily at the thought he did not feel his legs anymore. But it receded quickly as blood rushed to the tip of his toes and back, eliciting goosebumps, and pins and needles appeared under his skin. In any other circumstances, Khadgar would have cursed at the sensation but right now, he welcomed it openly.

With some effort, he managed to sit up properly, feet firmly set on the floor, his back straight. He wiggled his legs for a while before even trying to stand up. He made it on the first try and he stumbled forward, catching himself on the threshold. He managed to keep himself upright and a grin sliced his face. He opened the door further, pushing it with his feet.

He found himself in a long corridor. Apart from his, there were two other doors, both having stayed ajar. Darkness reigned inside but Khadgar had noticed that the light came from the end of the corridor. Eager to reach it, he hobbled over there, unsteady on his legs but he kept one hand carefully set on the wall, supporting his insecure weight. 

The moonlight was streaming in from huge French windows which ran from one wall to the other. It illuminated the wide room furnished with sofas and armchairs, a low coffee table, and a counter which connected the living room to the kitchen. The ground was covered with a thick carpet and Khadgar buried his naked feet in the fabric.

He was dumbstruck. The world outside was brightly lit despite the late hour. It was a full moon and there were no electrical light on in the street, giving way to the moonlight. It caught on every single small particle of snow which fell softly from the sky, swirling in the air, so slow and leisurely. Khadgar was mesmerized.

He had noticed someone sitting cross-legged in front of the window. He observed the still form, the hunched back, the short hair, the hint of profile he could see, illuminated by the moon, and recognized Llane. He had never met him, but had spent enough times surrounded by pictures of him that he had no doubt it was him.

Khadgar must have made a sound of some sort, because Llane turned around. He was on his feet in seconds, hurrying to his side.

“Khadgar!” he whispered. “You shouldn’t be up, come.”

Llane led him to sit on one of the sofas. He sat in front of him, leaning his arms on his knees, staring at him.

“How are you feeling?”

Khadgar did not answer him. He was staring out of the window, where the snow kept falling. His eyes glistened in the moonlight, the shadows on his face dancing with the snowflakes. Llane followed his gaze, at the sight he had been admiring himself just moments before. They both sat in silence for a long time, observing the snowfall.

Eventually, Llane shook himself out of his daze. His movements alerted Khadgar, who turned his gaze to him.

“Are you hungry?” Llane asked.

Khadgar answered him with an enthusiastic nod. Llane chuckled and stood up, enjoining Khadgar to wait for him. He came back with one of the cakes Anduin had so meticulously cut in squares. Llane set the plate down on the table and took one piece before sliding the plate over to Khadgar. He accepted it with a whispered thanks. Llane began munching, observing as Khadgar carefully picked up a slice of cake and brought it to his mouth. The moan that escaped him as he closed his mouth around the cake made Llane chuckle again. Khadgar’s eyes shot open, looking caught, before he joined Llane in his mirth.

They did not talk any further, instead enjoying the other’s silent presence and the view which the world offered them.

Dawn found them fast asleep on the sofas, having surrendered to their tiredness at one point in their marvel.

They were woken up suddenly when a door slammed and a panicked voice rose in the silent flat.

“Khadgar’s gone!”

There were thumps and more panicked calls. Both Taria and Medivh awoke with a start, slipping out of bed and practically running into the corridor. They had almost reached the living room when Anduin stopped short. Taria and Medivh pressed behind his back, wondering in their sleep-laden minds why he had stopped so suddenly. 

Khadgar was standing in the middle of the room, looking pale but steady on his feet. Anduin took one step forward, allowing entry to Taria and Medivh who stopped as suddenly as he had as they caught sight of Khadgar. He was fiddling with his sleeves, both hands held in front of him, lip caught between his teeth. He looked so much like a boy, and they were struck by his vision, the sun forming like a halo behind his head.

“Hi,” he croaked.

A giant grin overtook Anduin’s face. All of a sudden, he was next to Khadgar, and it was as if he was going to embrace him. But instead he stopped, breathing heavily, and slowly raised his hands to Khadgar’s face. He traced Khadgar’s cheek with his fingers, roaming his face with his eyes, taking in the sight of him. 

“Hey,” Anduin whispered.

He searched Khadgar’s eyes, unsure what to say, what to do. As Khadgar made no move nor said anything, Anduin faltered. He was suddenly overly aware of the others’ presence, and he took a step back. Khadgar’s face seemed confused for a moment but it reverted back to neutral straight away. As soon as he had backed away, Taria and Medivh stepped in, the two of them talking at once. By the look on Khadgar’s face, he couldn’t keep up. Llane stood up, then, and putting both hands on Khadgar’s shoulders, he chased the two away.

“Leave him alone,” he said, “he needs to rest anyway.”

“What? No I—“

But Llane did not let him finish his sentence. Khadgar was led back to his room. Llane came back a few minutes later. Taria, Medivh and Anduin had sat down and were waiting for him.

“Why were you out here?” he was asked.

He sighed, and told them: “I couldn’t sleep last night so I got up and came here. He awoke around four a.m. and joined me. We must have fallen asleep and then, well, you woke us up,” he finished, pointing at Anduin.

“I got up and went to check on him but his bed was empty,” Anduin explained, sour-faced.

“I’m sorry,” Llane conceded. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’d like a coffee right now.”

Murmurs of agreement followed his statement and they relocated to the kitchen. As Llane started the coffee machine, Taria got the milk out of the fridge, Medivh took the sugar out of the cupboard and Anduin arranged the cupcakes he had baked yesterday on a plate. With Medivh and Taria’s arrival, they had been left in the turned-off oven all night long.

They ate breakfast in companionable chatter. Medivh suddenly wanted to know whether they had heard from the family yet. Llane exchanged a wary gaze with Anduin.

“Well,” Llane started, “they’re not angry, if you were wondering. On the contrary.”

“What do you mean?”

“They want us to start a new branch, here, in Toronto.”

Taria and Medivh stared open-mouthed at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he squirmed, “but that’s what they told me. Everything starts back like it was before, except now we’re here instead of in New York.”

They could tell the news did not please him. None of them could pretend not having hoped this would mean the end of their involvement with the mafia. They were all ready to give up the criminal life they had lived up until now, more or less voluntarily. 

“We’re going to have to diversify, though,” Llane added. Seeing the quizzical look on his friends’ faces, he smiled. “We’re going to have to pick up the gun trade along with the drugs.”

“Great,” Medivh said sarcastically.

“I knew you’d appreciate it, Med,” Llane laughed. “But it’s alright. After all, we’ve got our manager back!” He slapped Anduin on the back, and soon they were all laughing, albeit a bit grudgingly.

They fell silent when Khadgar’s figure appeared in the doorway. The sudden attention almost made him turn back around but he fought against the unease and stayed right where he was.

“Khadgar,” Llane greeted him. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” he answered, voice still hoarse from the time spent unused.

“Come in.”

They all shuffled around the table, making place for him. A fifth chair was brought in so he could sit.

“Where are we?” he asked.

There was a moment where the four of them looked visibly taken aback.

“Of course you don’t know,” Taria suddenly fumbled. “We’re so sorry, Khadgar, this must be awfully confusing for you. You…” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

Khadgar coughed. “Last I know, I was in some sort of governmental building?”

Medivh nodded. “Yeah, you were at the FBI compound in Dalaran. Taria and I got you out, with Garona’s help.” Khadgar’s eyes widened. “Well, at least we thought so… Things got complicated. But the point is, you’re free now. And we’re in Canada.”

Khadgar said nothing. He was staring unseeing at the table. The four others decided to give him time to process the news, and they resumed their chatter, quieter than before. They each glanced at him occasionally, unable to hide their worry.

His mind was racing but he couldn’t stop it. He felt like lying down. Every event until he woke up here swam in his head, clear and precise. He had thought he was lost. He had thought this was the end, that he would never see the sun again, never feel the wind on his face again, never see Anduin ever again. He had wanted it to be the end.

Suddenly, he felt like his chest was being squeezed by invisible restraints. He stood up, faintly hearing the chair scraping the floor behind him. He stumbled out of the kitchen. He barely registered the hands that led him to a sofa, the voices that spoke around him, the fingers which stroke his hair. He couldn’t breathe but it wasn’t because his lungs wouldn’t work but because he found his brain was totally disconnected from his body. His eyes wandered on their own, attracted by the light coming in from the windows. 

The world outside was covered in white, the snow from last night glistening under the sunlight. The snowfall had ended but the streets and roofs were still completely covered in white. It was beautiful.

His breathing slowed and he regained awareness of his senses little by little. He took notice of his surroundings one detail at a time, the press of fingers on his back, the softness of the cushion under him, the glint of the sun which was blinding him the longer he stared. 

“Khadgar?”

He turned his head and was met with the pair of most breath-taking blue eyes he had ever seen. No, he had seen them before, and he had admired their beauty already, losing track of his thoughts more often than not as he conversed with the person whose eyes they were. Khadgar smiled, and Anduin smiled back.

“Are you with us?”

Khadgar allowed himself to laugh lightly. “Yeah.”

The four people surrounding him visibly relaxed. They backed away, allowing him space to breathe. Only Anduin remained close to him, having sunk to his knees in front of him, his hands secure on Khadgar’s knees. They were so close.

As the others pretended not to watch, Anduin leaned in to kiss him. Khadgar stilled at first, unsure, but he rapidly abandoned himself into the kiss, relishing in the press of Anduin’s lips on his. He had dreamed of it, at night, in his cell, up until their very first kiss in the corridor, and after that still, he had dreamed of the day he would get to kiss Anduin’s lips again. He could feel the others’ gaze on them, hear their soft whispers as Taria led them out of the room so as to give him and Anduin some privacy. Khadgar did not care.

Because in this moment only one thing mattered, and it was Anduin’s warmth under his fingers as he pulled him closer, the softness of his hair as he tightened his fingers into it, the taste of his lips as he kissed them over and over again, it was Anduin’s breath as it came out ragged and quicker with every second that passed and they got as close as humanly possible. All that mattered right now, was that Anduin was here, here for Khadgar to see, to touch, and in this moment Khadgar knew.

He was free. And he was alive.

# END ACT TWO

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end for this particular chapter of this particular story. I do plan on writing a lot more in this universe, hopefully I'll be able to start posting the second part ( _Gone Forever_ ) starting September.
> 
> Don't hesitate to leave a comment to tell me what you've liked about this story, what you didn't like, questions you might be asking yourself etc.. Just anything you'd like me to hear! I thank you for sticking with me until the end and for having read what is my longest fanfiction for now. It has been an immense pleasure to share it with you and have you react to it in the comments. 
> 
> See you around, trustees
> 
> ~Ogawdy
> 
> P.S.: don't miss the epilogue ;)


	31. Epilogue

# the end is just the beginning.

When Anduin awoke, it was with a big smile and the feeling that his heart might jump out of his throat the moment he opened his mouth to speak. He didn’t waste any minute lazing around in bed, instead swinging his legs off the bed and pulling on his trousers. He jerked his door open, welcoming the sudden bright light that came from the living space. He sauntered over to the kitchen and started a coffee. 

He heard a grunt behind him and he turned to greet Medivh. He had always known him for being more of a night owl and for hating to wake up early, so he wasn’t surprised when his loud “Good morning!” was welcomed by a glare and ten-mile frown. Anduin smiled at his friend, handing him the coffee he had originally brewed for himself and starting another one. 

The next few minutes passed in silence as they both sipped at their scalding hot coffee. Eventually, Medivh cleared his throat.

“You’re in a cheery mood,” he remarked.

Although his shoulders tensed, Anduin did not let the other’s wary tone get in the way of the huge grin which had overtaken his face as soon as he had awoken. With a hint of defiance, he met Medivh’s glare head on.

“I’m meeting Khadgar,” he reminded him.

Today was Tuesday, the one day in the week when Khadgar did not have to work except for weekends. He had had no trouble finding a job in Toronto after having been provided with a fake ID. All of them had had to don a brand new identity. They even went as far as altering their appearance, on the off-chance that they be recognized. Not that anyone was even looking for them anymore-for the whole of the United States of Azeroth, and the world for that matter, the escaped convicts had found their untimely deaths as they were trying for the Canadian border.

Anduin, Llane and Taria had thanked the family for what seemed like a miracle, but Medivh knew better. He wasn’t however about to disclose the truth to them. He took another sip of coffee, wincing at the heat. He glanced at Anduin again, whose previously long hair and beard had been replaced by a shaved head and an always clean shaven jaw. Medivh envied him, now that he had had to start letting his hair grow long and his beard cover his face. It itched. 

“You’re going to tell him?” he asked Anduin, observing his reaction.

It had been six months since they had crossed the border, five since they had moved to their new headquarters. Five months, then, since Khadgar had been placed in another flat on the other side of the city, with strict instructions that he never be told the location of their new bar, the Alliance. Ideally, that should have been the end of any and all communication between Khadgar and the Irish mafia. But Medivh doubted anything could have stopped Anduin from spending his Tuesdays in the presence of the young man. 

Despite having gone a long way since he had saved him, Medivh felt some of the old and familiar resentment towards Anduin. His actions were purely selfish, driven by this love for Khadgar that he had somehow started nursing while in prison. Not that Medivh actually thought that was love Anduin felt. He wished Anduin knew how to leave Khadgar alone. He was putting him in danger, not to mention their whole operation in Toronto. It needed to stop.

As soon as he saw Anduin’s face close off, all his earlier joy having disappeared, Medivh knew today would not be the day Anduin said goodbye to Khadgar. It had been months now since they had had their conversation about letting Khadgar go, providing him with an apartment and keeping discreet tabs on him only to keep him as safe as they could. They had both agreed that Anduin dating him was more dangerous than anything. They had _agreed_. Medivh could not remember the last time he and Anduin had ever seen eye to eye. This time, he thought, would not be different.

“Anduin-“ he tried saying.

“I know,” Anduin said quietly.

“Do you?” Medivh could not quite help the pity in his voice.

When Anduin looked up at him, instead of the anger Medivh expected to see, his gaze was filled with despair.

“Yes, I do.”

As he deposited his half-drunk cup in the sink and left the kitchen, Medivh stared gob smacked at his retreating back. He heard the front door close and he started. He considered running after Anduin to demand that he explain more clearly what he meant by that, but he quickly dismissed that idea. For the first time in five months, he thought Anduin might actually do the smart thing.

Ten minutes later, when the doorbell rang in the silent apartment, Medivh was still sitting at the kitchen’s counter, staring unseeing at the marble countertop. He snapped out of his shocked state and stood up, eyebrows furrowing. He was the only one still in the apartment, Llane and Taria having gone down to the bar early in the morning to oversee today’s operations. He walked slowly towards the door, grabbing his handgun and hiding it behind his back. He unlocked the door and opened it an inch.

Medivh stared quizzically at the girl standing in front of the door, her black and white cap proclaiming loudly that she was with the UPS.

“Mr Aran?” she asked.

His grip on the gun tightened as he heard his real name. He eyed the boxes he could see behind the girl.

“…Yes?” he dared answer.

“Delivery for you,” the girl said, gesturing towards the three stacked boxes. “If you could sign here.”

Medivh warily stuck his gun in his pants and grabbed the electronic device on which he was supposed to sign. He wondered how smart that was of him, but he was so intrigued to know what those boxes were that his curiosity got the better of him. First thing he would do would obviously be to check if they weren’t bombs, but he also figured that if they were, then there wasn’t much he could do if they detonated on his doorstep rather than his living room. He signed.

The delivery girl smiled tightly at him and she left, leaving him to drag the three boxes inside. They were heavy and he left the last one near the door with a huff. He stood then, staring at the three identical boxes with only his name and address on them. There was only one person who knew where he now lived but didn’t know to use his alias. He didn’t dare hope, though.

He sat cross-legged on the floor and took out his pocket knife to open the first box. What he uncovered took his breath away. He reached inside with trembling hands, willing his heart to stop beating so hard.

When Taria came up to the apartment hours later, intending on making some lunch, she found him in the same position, sitting on the floor except he was now surrounded by pictures upon pictures and the boxes were mostly empty. She gaped at the sight, a feeling of dread slowly sinking in her stomach.

“Medivh?” she asked softly.

He turned tear-filled eyes towards her, his bottom lip trembling. 

“What is this?” she asked.

He wordlessly handed her the picture he was currently holding. She took it, her previous wariness slowly transforming into horror as she took in what the photograph was.

The first person she recognized was herself, years younger, a bright smile on her face. Then, she saw Anduin, Medivh and Llane, all looking considerably younger but also healthier, happier as they all gazed at the camera which Anduin held, arm outstretched in order to fit them all in the picture. There was another person in the picture and it took Taria a few minutes to recognize her.

The last time she had seen her, her hair had been so much longer and straightened whereas it was cut short on the picture. That wasn’t what made her look so different though, because on the picture she was smiling widely and instead of staring at the camera like the others, she was gazing directly at Medivh, her eyes full of longing and affection. 

Suddenly, Taria felt sick, remembering the sight of the barrel of a gun pointed at her head and the smell of fire clogging her throat, the adrenaline pumping through her blood making her head dizzy. Taria sunk to the floor, barely registering Medivh’s hand around her arms. 

“Where did you find this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Medivh’s face was torn in anguish as he hesitated answering. Taria felt anger bubbling inside of her under the layer of shock. 

“Medivh, where did you find this?” she asked again, glaring at him.

He sighed and shuffled away from her, resting his back against the couch. 

“She sent them to me,” he said gesturing to the thousands of pictures scattered around the floor.

Taria picked one up at random, recognizing Anduin and a woman he dated for a few months so many years ago, when he was still at college and unaware that his sister was about to enter the mafia. Cally, she remembered the name of the woman. Anduin had wanted to marry her. Taria felt compelled to rip the photograph at once but she stopped herself. A tremor in her hand made her drop the picture. 

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to calm her breathing.

“How did she know where you live?” she asked, not daring to look at Medivh when all she wanted to do was to twist his neck.

“I,” he started, but he couldn’t continue, his throat constricting.

Taria sighed, getting up suddenly and starting to pace the room.

“I could kill you right now,” she seethed.

“I know,” Medivh said, sounding desperate.

“You…! She…!” Taria floundered. Eventually, she managed to get a sentence out. “Have you been in contact with her?” she asked, scandalized.

“Yes,” was Medivh’s simple answer.

Taria gaped. “I’m sorry?”

“I have been in contact with her.”

Losing control, Taria grabbed the nearest cushion and threw it at Medivh’s head. “How could you have been this stupid? She _knows_ where we _live_?”

Medivh opened his mouth to answer but she didn’t give him the time.

“Scratch that, you _told_ her where we live?”

He didn’t bother answering this time.

Taria scoffed. “What else did you tell her? Our fake names, maybe? That we’ve picked up the gun trade along with the drug trade? The bar’s name, perhaps?” As she talked, Taria kept pacing the room, gesturing widely around her. Medivh watched tiredly. “Oh, no, I know: you told her where Khadgar lived so that she may just show up and knock, is that it?”

“Taria-“

“Don’t!” she interrupted him.

She took a deep breath. The sudden silence hung around them, uncomfortable and heavy. Medivh did not dare speak up, afraid he would trigger Taria into another rant. He did not know what to say anyway.

He knew he had fucked up when he had received Garona’s first message. Actually, he had known as soon as he had scribbled his personal phone number on the paper he had left in Garona’s hand, back in the parking lot. But he had wanted to believe she could be trusted. That he could trust her, as he once did. Months had now gone by and yet she hadn’t done anything to make him think she wasn’t trustworthy. They didn’t talk of anything important, barely mentioned the fact he was a mobster and she was an FBI agent. They had never once brought up Khadgar or Lothar, nor anything to do with what had transpired six months ago for that matter. Medivh realized how fucked up it was he regularly talked to the person who had tracked them down, tortured one of them and tried to betray them, and he had to admit he was wary at first. 

But somehow along the way, he had found that he did trust her, in spite of everything. He had been stupid to disclose their address but he had also been drunk out of his mind, one night Anduin had called him and told him he would not come home and Taria and Llane had been out of town for an errand. He had regretted it in the morning once his mind had cleared enough for him to realize exactly what he had done but the deed was done. He had been so ashamed he had not told anyone.

But now, here he was, and he was surrounded with the pictures which once adorned Anduin’s walls in his Now York apartment, the apartment in which Medivh had spent countless nights at first with Anduin and then with Khadgar as they came up with their plan. There was absolutely no doubt as to who had sent the boxes. After the news of their fake deaths had spread, the apartment must have been emptied out by the FBI. A part of Medivh couldn’t help but glow with something that he feared to call joy at the thought that Garona, upon learning of their new address, had decided to send the pictures over. 

“Medivh.”

He snapped out of his deep thinking and stared at Taria. She was looking at him with a strange look in her eyes. He realized it had been several minutes since she had stopped talking. He tensed up, wondering what she was about to say.

“Do you trust her?” Taria asked.

Medivh’s jaw fell slack. His heart missed a beat and started again at a fast pace and he took a loud intake of breath. With a jolt, he realized that Taria was waiting for his response, as if everything that came after it depended on it.

He started nodding before the words even found their way out of his mouth.

“Yes, I do.”

Taria’s lips twitched, not quite smiling but even though, Medivh was taken aback. All of Taria’s previous anger was gone, and instead she stared fondly at him, a gaze which he found he had missed ever since Llane and Taria had informed they could no longer keep him as a part of their relationship. Medivh had agreed, of course, not having been blind to how their relationship had catastrophically degraded as soon as they had settled in Canada. He felt Taria’s fondness towards him wash over him like a soothing balm.

“Well then,” she said, “help me put the pictures back inside the boxes. You don’t want Llane to find them. Or worse,” she added with a grimace, “Anduin.”

Medivh could handle Taria yelling at him about how stupid he was, he probably could live with the look of deep pity Llane was sure of sending him should he be made aware of the situation. He wasn’t sure he could survive the betrayal and disgust Anduin would feel at learning he had been giving their information to their sworn enemy, a woman who had lied, deceived, and tried to kill them only six short months ago.

With this thought circling in his head, he busied himself in stacking the pictures back in the boxes. He and Taria worked in silence, and by the time Taria had to go back down, they were done. She left him with a small, tight smile betraying the worry she still felt but he knew she had his back. Once alone, he dragged the boxes inside his own private room and put them inside his closet, where no one would ever find them. Finally, he entered the code to the safe he kept in his closet, reveling in the small sound it made as it opened. Inside was a simple mobile phone. He grabbed it, surprised to see his hands were steady and his fingers sure as he opened the texting app, clicking on the only chat box there was. He did not hesitate as he typed the words and hit send.

“ _Thank you._ ”

He stared at the screen until he received notice that the message had been sent and received. With a small smile, he locked the phone in the safe and closed the closet. He busied himself with paperwork for the rest of the day, before assuming his role as bartender once the bar opened. There, he lost himself in the making of more and more intricate cocktails as the night went on. They were near closing when Anduin finally came home, hours after he had been supposed to. He staggered inside the bar, looking drunk out of his mind and far too happy. Medivh felt frustration bubbling under his skin as he realized that Anduin had found a way to once again put off the inevitable. He hadn't talked to Khadgar. Despite the fear which did not leave Medivh at the thought of something happening to Khadgar again, he couldn't help but feel a little bit proud that he and Anduin could find some peace and happiness. He decided, not for the first time, to let it slide as he waved at Anduin. His friend addressed him a wide grin before heading upstairs. He stumbled on the first step before recovering. Medivh chuckled.

As he closed the bar that night, Medivh allowed himself to hope that they would all be alright.

### to be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [4th Jan '19] _Gone Forever_ is in the works and scheduled to start posting Summer 2019, if everything goes well :)

**Author's Note:**

> aegwynnn.tumblr.com
> 
> Check out the photo montages for this fic:  
> [ Act I Khadgar & Lothar and Llane, Taria & Medivh](https://khadgar-is-bae.tumblr.com/post/174527269724/life-starts-now-61286-words-by-ogawdy-chapters)  
> [Act I & II Khadgar & Lothar](https://khadgar-is-bae.tumblr.com/post/174498782103/life-starts-now-61286-words-by-ogawdy-chapters)  
> [ Act I & II Llane, Taria, Medivh & Garona](https://khadgar-is-bae.tumblr.com/post/174524105661/life-starts-now-61286-words-by-ogawdy-chapters)


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